


The Twelve Days of Christmas

by CatWinchester, evieplease



Series: Wet Start One shots [5]
Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Christmas, F/M, Humor, actor!tom, drunken antics, probably the worst 'meet the parents' in the world ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWinchester/pseuds/CatWinchester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieplease/pseuds/evieplease
Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom's Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!We hope to post one chapter per day for the next 12 days.Wish us luck!Can be read as a standalone or as part of the series.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I’m dating Tom Hiddleston. 

It’s still really weird to say that. Not that I’ve said it to many people, we’re very private. I like to pretend we’re still friends with benefits, but I know we passed that point a long time ago. We’re exclusive and all that shit, which is just my fancy way of saying faithful and monogamous. 

We do most couple-y things, we just do them a bit differently to most people. We hardly ever go out together in public. We were snapped once in the park walking his dog, but it was winter and I had a huge woolly hat and earmuffs on, which hid my hair, plus a padded coat that disguised my figure, so no one recognized me. The tabloids said he was obviously dating the Michelin Woman. After that we took precautions. 

There are a few local places that have Tom’s back and seat us in the back where we’re not easily visible. I go first and order drinks. He comes fifteen minutes later. I leave first. He pays the bill and follows. Even if we’re going to his house, we walk back separately. It’s weird, but I’m not ready to change it. 

He still does all his celebrity things, like movie premiers, I just don’t go to them. Instead I get to go to the super secret previews for the cast before the movie is released. None of his cast mates has outed me yet. Probably because Tom knows who’s fucking who and could return the favor.

Mostly we tend to stay in and talk… in between fucking. We do a ridiculous amount of fucking. 

But fucking is the farthest thing from my mind right now because it’s nearly Christmas, and I'm packing to go and spend it with his Mum in Suffolk. 

Yep, we are apparently at the meet-the-parents stage of our relationship. Truthfully we’ve been at the meet the parents stage of this relationship for too long and I’ve run out of excuses.

Fuck! 

I just know his posh mum is going to hate me. I’m too loud, too foul-mouthed, too butch, too… too common. Too dirty. Tom’s mother wants a nice girl for him, but Tom likes me dirty.

So what does a tomboy plumber pack to meet the parents of her posh idiot boyfriend? This was my dilemma as I perused the contents of my wardrobe, chewing my lip raw and trying not to hyperventilate.

Overalls, dungarees, jeans, and t-shirts I had by the dozen, but dresses, gowns and formal wear I do not have. I’m a kind of smart casual girl and my only real dress is a little black cocktail dress I bought for a friend’s wedding five years ago. I mean, I’m an expert at dressing the LBD up so it looks different, with a jacket or a belt, or just a chunky necklace. The thigh high boots were very popular, but it’s easy to not be accused of wearing the same dress all the time when you wear it maybe once a year. 

I wouldn't put it past Tom’s family to have some sort of black tie do over the festive season though, and my dress was sadly not up to black tie standards… although I do like the idea of seeing Tom in a tux...

What am I saying, if he’s in a tux, I have to be in a gown!

I had hoped to put this off for another year using the excuse that I couldn’t leave my dad alone at Christmas, but my Dad, thinking he was being helpful, decided to join his oldest son, his daughter-in-law and their kids on a family holiday in Florida. 

Christmas is one of the few times a year when work actually quietens down. Basically, unless you’re in the retail or restaurant business, you have nothing to do between about the 15th of December and January 3rd. I do get a couple of emergency callouts but if the only loo in a houseful of visiting family hasn’t backed up, people either have the work done before the season really kicks in, or they leave it ‘till the new year. 

My calls are being forwarded to a local company who could be considered my rivals, but we’ve had a reciprocal relationship for years and we cover each other’s emergency calls during vacations and holidays. This meant that I couldn't even claim I had an emergency callout and scurry back to London if everything went tits up!

Which left me with no excuse for getting out of meeting Tom’s mum. Unless I wanted to go to Florida with my Dad. Yeah, no. Even Tom’s mother has to be better than my dad in swim trunks! In a pair of budgie smugglers? 

The only thing in my favor was that his sisters were busy. It was the turn of one to spend Christmas with the in laws and the other was overseas for work

I’d been hoping that I could use the excuse of overcrowding and we could rent a holiday home, or even stay at a hotel. That way I wouldn't have to worry about walking on eggshells twenty-four seven, wondering if I was making an arse of myself by not using the right sort of spoon in my coffee. 

Unfortunately, now I'm tying myself in knots as I try and make a good impression, which is totally not like me and probably a testament to how much I’ve come to care for the posh idiot I sometimes call my boyfriend. 

I sat down on my bed with a huff, tightly balling the duvet in my hands.

The fact is, I’m never going to measure up to whatever posh or middle-class nice girl his mum saw Tom settling down with, so why am I even bothering? I mean, if she is going to dislike me, then she could bloody well dislike me for who I really am and not who I’m pretending to be! Right?

Somehow I just couldn't bring myself to believe that his mum would love me, no matter how often Tom assured me that she would. I mean, I would be over the moon if she liked me, but the main thing is that Tom likes me. Right? Ugh. I’m going to crawl under this bed and not come out till New Years.

No, wait! Maybe I’ll ask Tom to pack for me? He knows what his mum would approve of, right?

Or will he just pack me a suitcase full of lingerie? I wouldn't put it past him! Plus that would give him an excuse to buy me new clothes. That man is always finding new and inventive ways to spend money on me. I tell him he doesn't have to, I even tell him not to, but it doesn't make the slightest difference. We even fought about splitting the bill for meals, and eventually settled on taking it in turns. That was until we started leaving restaurants in shifts. I had to go first because if the paps follow him, they’ll see me go in after, but they don’t follow  _ me _ so they don’t know whose house I end up at. I used to leave him my card and pin number, but he stopped using them and I didn't want to argue again. Instead, I bring some fancy alcohol whenever I go round to his place and hope it sort of evens out in the end. 

Oh well. I really hope his family like bad puns. And swearing. Lots of swearing…

Christ, my Dad in swim trunks is looking better and better by the minute. I looked at my clock. Tom would be here in about 30 minutes and all I had packed was my toiletries and the gifts I’d bought. 

God, his mum was going to hate my Body Shop gift basket. She probably bought Harrods gift baskets. I should at least have got something from John Lewis.

I could do with a drink. The nice single malt I’d bought for Tom was calling to me. Because yeah, nothing says ‘good girlfriend’ like rolling up to meet his mum pissed. Still, one couldn't hurt. The village was bound to have an off-licence where I could replace the bottle. I hadn't even wrapped it because I suck at wrapping. I prefer gift bags. And that’s not just me being lazy, reusable bags are more environmentally friendly too. 

What the hell. Tom would probably rather have a blow job than another bottle of expensive plonk. Only... how do you put a ribbon on a blow job?

By this time, the bottle was already in my hands. I slit the paper seal with my thumb nail and pulled the cork. Obviously I’ll need a drink to figure that out. Draw a bow in lipstick on my mouth? Buy one of those stick on ones you put on presents and sneak it onto his underpants while he’s changing. Dear lord! All this worry was even making me lose my sexy mojo!  

The bottle rattled on the glass rim as I poured a measure. My hands were  _ not _ shaking at the prospect of meeting Mrs. Posh Idiot’s Mum! Nope.

The glass clinked on my teeth as I swallowed the whole damn shot in one go, my eyes tearing up and throat on fire. As the fire faded however, I could already feel myself relaxing. Maybe one more quick shot, then I’d try packing again...

The next thirty minutes were a bit of a blur, until I heard Tom sound his horn to let me know he was here. He always comes up to the flat, even though I always tell him it’s unnecessary, but he insists, so we settle on him beeping his horn so I don’t keep him waiting. I really don’t want him and my Dad mixing any more than necessary because my father has this rather archaic view of men dating his daughter. If he were allowed to own one, I’m pretty sure he’d greet my boyfriends with a shotgun in hand. He’d left for Florida two days ago though. Pity. He might have saved me from the disaster I’m about to make.

I spotted my empty glass. 

“One for the road,” I said, quickly pouring myself another measure and downing it in one. 

Mr. Long Legs rang the bell then, having practically flown up three flights of stairs. Three at a time, no doubt. I pulled my case off the bed with a thud and after a moment to figure out where the wheels were, I dragged it to the front door. 

“I’m ready!” I said with a flourish as I opened the door. “Which way to the firing squad?”

Tom did a double take and sniffed the air. 

“You’re drunk?” He sounded surprised but not angry. His eyes got wide and he smothered a grin

“And you’re tall.” This seemed like a perfectly valid counter argument. 

Tom checked his watch and shook his head. “We can’t leave it any later, we’ll already get there after dark.” He took my case from me. “We’ll get you a coffee at the first rest stop we pass.” He looked me over. “And maybe a few others after that.” 

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here and sex me up? We can tell your mum there’s a blizzard.”

“A blizzard confined to London only?” One eyebrow went up.

“Yeah.” 

“A nice idea but I think she watched the news and weather and would smell a rat.” He was trying to hide his smile. “Have you got your keys?” 

“Oh!” Good job he said something or I’d have had to break in when we got back. “All right, all present and incorrect,” I said, jangling my keys from my index finger. 

Tom pulled the door closed behind me and tested it, then looked at the staircase. 

“I think maybe we’ll take the lift today.”

“I can do stairs!” I resented the implication that I was falling down drunk. Because I wasn’t. Falling down, I mean.

“I’m sure you can,” he soothed. “I’m worried that you’ll think breaking your neck is a good excuse not to meet my mother.” 

“Oh—” That actually  _ was _ a good excuse but I was cut off before I could think on it any further. 

“She’d just visit you in the hospital,” he assured me, taking my arm and dragging me over to the elevator banks. “Where you would be unable to escape because...broken neck.”

“Bollocks!” I blurted just as Mrs. Clark got off the lift and gave me a filthy look. Old cow.

“Use your inside voice, darling.” 

“Did I say that out loud?” 

He nodded, a cheeky smile on his lips. He liked me drunk squiffy. Not that he gets to see it very often because I usually either have work in the morning or I’m on call, but when I get the chance we have a whale of a time. 

He helped me into his car, strapped me in like a child then stowed my case. Climbing into the driver’s seat he turned the engine over and in his take charge voice said “Right then, to Aldeburgh!” 

“To infinity and beyond!” I added. 

Tom chuckled as he pulled away from the kerb. 

***

The lane Tom’s mum lived on is old and posh, meaning it was wide enough only for one car (well, probably carriage) and there was no driveway because the horses were housed in the stables, well, posh people call that a mews, I think. 

And all that is to explain that we had to walk about a hundred meters from where we parked the car at the end of the lane, to his mum’s house.

We were taking our time—Tom assured me there was no hurry but I think he really just wanted to sober me up some more.

It was snowing lightly and there was half an inch covering on the ground, making the whole village appear bloody magical.

Tom had an arm around my shoulders, I wasn't sure if it was to keep me warm or upright. We’d left our bags in the car for now, Tom assured me he’d go back for them shortly.

“This place is so romaaaantic,” I crooned. Apparently I find a bitingly cold sea wind romantic when drunk, but then alcohol makes you feel warm so I was probably numb to the painful cold. “We need, like, a street musician to serenade us, then it’d be perrrrfect!”

“If you say so.” He didn't sound convinced, so of course I had to convince him. Unfortunately my repertoire of romantic songs is very small. 

“ _ When the moon hits your knees and you mispronounce trees, sycamor-e _ .” 

It wasn't particularly romantic but it did snap him out of his overprotectiveness and he laughed. 

“I have a few of these,” he said with a smile before launching into, “ _ When Othello's poor wife becomes stabbed with a knife, that's a Moor, eh? _ ”

I snickered. Trust him to have a Shakespearean one!

“Back in school we used to sing,  _ ‘When you ace your last tests, like you did all the rest, that's some more A's’ _ ”

“Now I’ve started something!” Tom laughed before launching into, “ _ When an eel bites your hand and that's not what you planned, that's a moray. _ ”

He steered me down the driveway as I launched into my next verse. “ _ When your ass chews dried grass and then wants more, alas, that's some more hay. _ ”

He rang the doorbell and launched into his final verse. “ _ When you've had quite enough of this dumb rhyming stuff, that's ‘No more!’ eh? _ ” Trust Tom to have the perfect ending to our game! As well as the last word!

We both fell about laughing and leaning on each other, which is how his mother discovered us seconds later when the door swung open. It took me a moment of wiping my tears of laughter to realize we had an audience. 

“Mum!” I said, audibly gulping. “I mean, Hiddleston! I mean, Mrs. Mum! I mean … ” I choked. Maybe I should quit while I’m not too far behind.

But trust me. If I had an instruction manual it would read, ‘Step one, open mouth. Step two, insert foot. Step three, shut up and die of mortification.’

Diana ushered us inside out of the cold and as she took our coats and gloves. 

“You hab a lobely home,” I said with a goofy grin after Tom made the introductions. Great, now I’ve lost the ability to speak coherently. Please excuse me, Mrs. Posh Idiot, I cannot brain today. 

I held out my hand for a shake but she pulled me into a hug instead. Aww. I took a deep breath as she held me in her arms. I think this is what mums are supposed to smell like.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” she said sincerely. At most I'd expected those European double air kisses from his mum, so the hug was unexpected. But welcome. 

“Oh no, he hasn't told you all my secrets, has he?” I was only part jesting, but really, this wasn't a joke I wanted to be making. My nerves were running away with my mouth. Well, maybe the booze too. “I mean, if he told you about the squirrel I’ve named Roger, it is totally normal to name a wild squirrel and to build it a run from spare pipe lengths!”

It was actually a sort of sculpture I made for his birthday, supposed to be modern art but inspired by the squirrels he has in his garden. It was a sort of semi-sincere gag gift to show that I cared enough to make something, but that I wasn't going nuts wondering if he’d like the one of a kind signed first edition it took me weeks to get shipped from Transylvania, or some such shit. His teasing me about it actually being made for the squirrels is why I named Roger, Roger in the first place! That story was a lot less crazy than I’m making it sound to his mum though. Or maybe not...

“And for Christmas I’ve got him a bird bath so Harrold and Harriette the robins can get clean.” The fuck was I saying now? Shit! I’d just told him what his present was. The scotch was really meant to be a joke because I’d already bought him so much booze. Of course, maybe now it’ll be an even better joke, half full as it is!

“He sent me pictures of your sculpture, it was lovely, and very fitting for an urban garden, I thought. You have quite an artistic eye.” 

“Do I?” Wow, what a compliment. “Fuck me!” And there I’ve ruined it. I could feel my cheeks going pink. Pinker. They should be about ready to fry eggs on any moment now.

“Coffee, I think,” she said, with a quick glancing smile at Tom over my shoulder, and my heart sank. Shit. She knew I was smashed. Bugger. As if reading my mind she called over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. “You’ll be parched after your journey.” 

So wait, did she not know I was tipsy, or was she just being polite? I wrapped my arms around myself, clutching my elbows as I watched her disappear down a hallway. Tom’s arms wrapped around me from behind for a bolstering hug.

“Stop overthinking everything. You’re fine,” Tom whispered in my ear as he guided me into the kitchen with a hand in the small of my back. He had to use a fair amount of force because my feet refused to move. I felt like I was being pushed into the lion's den, and I was pretty sure I was over the drink driving limit, which surely lessened my chances of escaping alive. Maybe thinking positively would help.

“She’s a very  _ kind _ lion,” I said to Tom as he guided me into a seat at the kitchen table. 

Tom nodded seriously. “She is indeed.”

I could swear I heard a very quiet ‘rrawrr’ from the vicinity of the coffee pot, but I must be hallucinating. I leaned around Tom from my seat to look, but all I could see was a nice middle aged woman with beautiful silver hair pouring coffee. I looked up at Tom. He was doing that twinkle thing again as he sat opposite.

I loooove that twinkle thing! I wanna kiss that twinkle thing! But then the nice barista, I mean  _ Mum _ , was setting a coffee mug in front of me and asking complicated questions about milk and sugar and things. 

I solved all the complicated questions by simply saying, “Yes please, Mrs. Hildeson. Do you know, you’ve raised a very posh idiot?” At their wide eyed expressions I replayed that sentence in my head. “I mean, nice  _ man _ , you’ve raised a very nice man! Sorry, I just sometimes call him a …” It sounded like a horrible thing when I explained it like this. “He’s a  _ very _ nice man,” I emphasized the ‘very.’ Because he is.  _ Very _ , I mean.

“A very, very nice man,” she teased me back, imitating the famous AA advert from years ago, where old ladies compete over how nice the AA mechanic is for fixing their car. I snickered.

“A very, very, very nice man,” I repeated, just realizing that this could go on for a while. I should have let it die when I had the chance. Or murdered it. Luckily, Diana had more sense than me and moved on. 

“Please, just call me Diana.” First names already. Go me. Is getting to first names with your beau’s mamma like getting to first base in a relationship? And eww, why am I thinking about bases with my possible but improbable future mother-in-law? Or since I’m Tom’s FWB, would that be mother-in-lust? What is  _ wrong _ with me??

On second thoughts, do not answer that!

“I need to drink more,” I announced. I received some very odd looks in return. “I mean, because I’m a lightweight. Three beers and that’s my limit, and then only on weekends. I need to build up stamina,” I hiccupped, “pickle my liver.”

“I think they call that cirrhosis,” Diana said, trying to hide her smile. 

“Wait, that’s bad, isn't it?” I frowned, trying to remember. 

Tom wrapped my hand around my coffee mug, helping me lift it to my mouth. “Drink up, love.” 

“I think some food might be in order,” Diana suggested, she stood and went to the cupboard, aaalll the way across the vast kitchen. Whatever does anyone need such a ginormous kitchen  _ for _ , anyway?

“Mum likes to entertain quite a lot.” Tom answered.

Shit. I’d said that out loud. I drank some more of my coffee, just to occupy my mouth before I started food punning. The kitchen wasn’t  _ really _ that large, not like a football pitch or anything. Just big enough for a six burner stove, a double wide refrigerator, huge oak table plus ten chairs, and a sofa and coffee table in front of the bank of tall windows looking out into the back garden. Enormous by my standards, but not actual mansion sized.

Diana had pulled out two Christmas puddings and set them on the counter. She was busily putting one of them into a carrying tin. 

“Thomas, will you kindly take this over to Mrs. Henderson for me. I forgot to take it round this morning.” Her blue eyes, so like Tom’s, flickered over to me and back to his. She handed the tin to him as he stood, looking up at him.

“She’s been lonely without her son. Let her chat you up a bit, Thomas. There’s no need to rush.” She nodded my way. “Rocky and I will be fine.”

“Alright, Mum.” Tom leaned down and kissed my surprised lips. “You’ll be fine, love. Relax.” Tom whispered against my lips and kissed me again. It wasn’t a chaste little peck, either. Tom’s other hand came around and settled at the back of my head and held me for a proper snog. When he pulled away, he ran his thumb over my cheekbone.

The corner of his mouth curled up in a familiar smirk, and he winked at me, before he left me alone with his mother.

I stared after him as he strode out the kitchen door. Moments later the front door opened and thudded shut. Abandoned!

Tom had literally abandoned me to his mother. I stared at her, only then realizing that I’d asked the posh idiot’s mother about him. I felt the blood drain out of my face.

Diana chuckled. “Don’t hold back on me now, darling.” She brought her coffee with her and gracefully sat on the other end of the sofa, her back straight and ankles neatly tucked away. All belied by a familiar devilish grin. 

I was lost in love with his mum. She was everything a mum should be. I felt mothered myself, for the first time in ever.   
  


I made a circle of my arms, and laid my head down on them, wallowing in my own misery. I could hear Diana moving about but I didn't look up until I heard her putting things on the table, right beside my head. 

“There, eat up, there’s a girl. You need a bit of cake to soak up the excess alcohol,” she said, taking a plate with a wedge Christmas fruit cake off the tray and sliding it closer to me. She had a much smaller slice for herself and a pot of tea and two mugs. 

“Are you all right with coffee or would you prefer some tea?” she asked me. 

“I’m okay with coffee.” I took another sip and grimaced. It was stone cold! How long had I been resting my head on the table? “Um, maybe tea would be better.”

Diana poured two mugs of tea and gave me one. I was surprised to see she used mugs rather than cups. She was just so posh elegant? I didn't expect her to use mugs.

“So,” she said as she sat opposite. “What brought about this daytime drinking? I’m not that fierce, am I?” 

I shook my head. “No.” Tom had made her seem lovely actually. God, my face felt so hot, I knew I was tomato red.

“Well Tom has said nothing that would lead me to believe you’re an alcoholic, which makes me wonder if perhaps you were intimidated? I gather he’s been trying to arrange our meeting for the last six months or so.” 

Great, I was being backed into a corner, so of course I gave an answer that seemed perfectly reasonable to my inebriated brain. 

“Maybe It’s because you’re a mum, and I haven’t had really good experiences dealing with mothers? woman,” I blurted. Clearly I had yet to regain the power of coherence. “I mean, I don’t really remember my own mum, just a few vague memories and I think I may have made them up from the stories people told me about her. But anyway, it was just me and two older brothers.” And now I was waffling, but even though I recognised that fact, I was unable to stop myself. 

“My dad was a mess when she left us, and suddenly feeding three mouths on his job alone, so he worked almost every hour god sent and  my brothers pretty much raised me. My dad didn't see a problem when we came back from the park and I was dirtiest of all. I was a total tomboy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, my dad understood I was a girl and he did his best to try and accommodate that, but he’s a big, burly man’s man, you know, and it was just so awkward that I just kept saying no to girly things because I didn't want either of us to be embarrassed.” I sipped my coffee. “It wasn't too much of an issue until I was about ten, then I started to look like a girl. I remember he took me shopping for my first bra. Because I developed early my friends couldn't help, and being a tomboy, I wasn't really friendly with their mums. Most mums saw my muddy fingernails and grass stained skirt and treated me like some kind of feral half-boy creature.” I sipped my coffee, trying to forestall the shame. “So if I wanted a bra, and my teacher had already pulled me aside twice to tell me I needed one, Dad was my only choice.” I kept my eyes on my cup, afraid to see pity in Diana’s eyes.

“We ended up trying to shop for a ten year old’s training bra in Victoria’s effing Secret!” My cheeks were burning with embarrassment still. “The sales lady had been very nice, and she us sent to Primark, but it was hard enough for my dad to go in there. To then realize he’d cocked it up and practically taken a child into a sex shop... he was mortified, and I was mortified that it was my fault.

“Which is all to say that, yeah, I can swipe some eyeliner on when I need to, but I’m just not very girlie, and virtually all my boyfriend’s parents haven't liked that about me, but I was happy telling them to fuck— uh, I mean,  _ eff  _ off if they made snide comments. But now... I really like Tom, and I really wanted to make a good impression, and I’d seen pictures of you in his house looking all feminine and elegant and shit, and I just got all panicky and thought a drink for ‘medicinal purposes’ would be a good idea… and then it kinda wasn’t.”

I looked over, and far from being horrified, Diana looked like she was trying to hide a smile. 

“Oh my dear, that must have been awful for you.” She sounded sympathetic rather than pitying but she couldn't hold in her laughter.

“You’re laughing at me.” I felt stricken. 

“Oh no! No, no, no!” Now she looked horrified, her fingers covering her mouth and wincing . “I just know exactly how you felt, about having a clueless father! You see, back when I was a child, we didn't have sex education or any of these newfangled classes and books you have today. It was up to one’s mother to explain the facts of life, and if she didn't, or delayed too long, well…” she shrugged. 

I had an awful feeling I knew where this was going. 

“My mother had to go away for a couple of weeks to help her younger sister after an operation, because she simply wasn't in a fit state to look after two children under six and a husband. Well, I wake up one morning while she’s gone, covered in blood and with an awful tummy ache! I was certain that I was dying, there was just so much blood, and I start to  scream  hysterically. 

“My father rushed in and saw, and somehow he managed to calm me down, then once I was calm he went to his bathroom and returned with a tampon. No applicator, just the bullet shaped thing wrapped in paper. He told me to put that in my knickers and it would soak up all the blood. Obviously, it didn't. Luckily he let me stay off school because I needed a bath and would have been horribly late anyway, so he took my brothers to school then came home to stay with me because he needed to soak the bedding before the blood stained. 

“Of course, a tampon sitting on your knickers isn't going to catch much of anything, especially since I didn't even know to take the wrapper off! He finally phoned my mother when he spotted blood on the kitchen chair I’d been sitting on and she sent him out to the chemist with strict instructions for exactly what towels to buy. He came back red faced and handed me a brown paper bag. While he was gone, my mother had talked me through what to do with them, and told me how to fix her hot water bottle for my tummy.”

Diana had looked a bit uncomfortable when she began her tale, but now she was laughing again. 

“It was horrifically embarrassing, and for a few years my father wouldn't stand for a word being said about periods in his presence. I realize now that he was embarrassed that he hadn't known how to help me, but as a child, I thought there was something shameful about menstruation.” she shook her head with a wry smile. “By the time I was in my twenties, I could see the funny side. You could take bets that I made certain that my own girls knew all about it well beforehand, though.” 

I had to admit, I was having trouble hiding my smile now too.

“Thank you for telling me.” I was touched that she’d share something so personal just to put me at ease. 

When Tom returned with our cases a little later I felt mostly sober and was helping Diana with her decorations. 

She had one of those trees that come with roots in a giant pot. You rent the tree and it’s delivered then collected by the Christmas tree farm, who then replant it in a larger pot and rent it again the next year. I was well impressed. And the tree itself was perfectly formed.

She’s rather fastidious and preferred to stand back and look from afar. She directed me to move the ornaments and fill in any gaps. I didn't mind. After the fool I’d made of myself, I welcomed an opportunity to be useful. 

“Darling,” Tom intoned as he wrapped his arms around me, “this is so beautiful, I’m at a loss  _ fir _ words!” His breath tickled my ear, making me squirm.

“Yes, it’s a real  _ treet _ , isn’t it?” I murmured as I leaned back against his chest.

Diana piped up behind us. “You two are as sweet as  _ tree- _ cle!”

We all fell about snickering. Thank heaven that Diana is as brilliant as Tom. She has a punning sense of humour too. Must be where he got it from.

We were only staying two nights, but we both had presents, so our cases were a reasonable size. I’d brought pictures of his bird bath so he could see it, and I would install it in his garden when we returned. That was why I’d bought whiskey, so he had something tangible to open on Christmas day.  Unfortunately by the time I’d remembered, the off-licence was closed. I hope he’ll laugh at the half-empty bottle. I did bring one of those stick on bows to put on the top. 

The bird bath was nice though. I made it with a welded copper pipe frame to match the squirrel run he loved, the bath itself was a stone bowl with blue glass stones in the bottom, which worked very well with the copper pipes, I thought.

We brought our gifts down and placed them under the tree, then we sat in front of the fire while mother and son caught up with each other. They tried to include me in conversation, Diana especially asking lots of questions about my childhood and my work as she tried to get to know me. I answered, but I was also content just to listen. 

By the time dinner was ready—a slow cooked chicken casserole that just melted in the mouth— I felt sober again. I declined wine with the meal, though—I’d already made a big enough fool of myself for one day. 


	2. A Partridge in a Pear Tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever you're doing, we hope you're having a wonderful day!
> 
> Merry Christmas!

**A Partridge in a Pear Tree.**

The next morning Tom fixed me up with coffee and went to find his mum. I’d asked to be left alone to apologize—it was mortifying enough to relive my actions of the day before, let alone have an audience for it. 

I rushed to my feet the moment I saw her, like some gentlemen in a Regency film when a lady walks in. 

“Oh God, Mrs. Hiddleston, I am  _ so _ sorry,” I blurted. I must have looked quite stricken, as she tried to soothe me.

“Now now, it’s not that bad, is it?” she asked as she sat opposite me at the table and gestured for me to sit down too.

“I just…” for once words failed me. “I just wanted to make a good impression, and I couldn't have made a worse one! I’m so…”

“I understand. Becoming part of a new family is difficult at the best of times, but even more so for those who feel they don’t fit in. I felt the same when I met my in-laws for the first time.” She smiled sympathetically.

“You’re really not angry?”

“I’m really not. I completely understand your nerves and I forgive your behavior yesterday. Not that you have anything to apologize for, really, you were highly entertaining!” 

My cheeks were flaming pink but I was beginning to reframe my ‘ _hideously embarrassing first impression_ ’ into my ‘ _mortifying, but hilarious story_ ’. I’d have to tell it a few more times before that metamorphosis completely happened, but the fact his mum didn't hate me was an immense weight off my shoulders. 

“I’m also very glad to see that you’re a happy drunk,” she said with a grin. “I’ve met many people over the years who turn nasty when they imbibe a little too much!” 

“I can’t believe you’re actually finding positives from yesterday’s mess!” I laughed a little. “Now I see where Tom gets his endless optimism from!”

“What a lovely thing to say,” she smiled as if I’d paid her a huge compliment. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry for showing you my arse yesterday. I mean, figuratively, not literally. No matter how drunk, I’ve never done that.” 

“You don’t remember?” Diana looked surprised and it felt like my stomach just dropped straight through the floor. 

“ _ What _ ?”

Diana burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, my dear, I couldn't resist. Rest assured, there was no mooning.” 

I gave her an appraising and yes, slightly impressed look. “I think I’m going to like you.” 

Diana actually cackled and I felt as if I’d made a lifelong friend. Well, I hoped I had. 

“Now, let’s get some brunch started, shall we? Then we can open these lovely gifts and have a grand old meal this evening.”

We’d all had a lie in, so I was rather hungry actually, once the paracetamol had kicked in. I’m usually up with the larks and eating a breakfast bar in my van by 7am. 

“Can I help?” 

“I don't think so. Why don’t you find Thomas and enjoy Christmas morning, I’ll give you a shout when it’s ready.”

“Are you sure?” It felt rude not to help when I was a guest. Plus I probably had some grovelling to do. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Do you like black pudding?” 

“Um, I’m not really a fan.” I tried not to wrinkle my nose as I leaned my tummy against the counter next to her, fiddling with her salt and pepper shakers. 

“Nor me,” she confided in a stage whisper. “Thomas, however, loves the stuff. Takes after his father in that respect.” I glanced over at her face. She’s nearly the same height as me, so I could clearly see her expression. I was glad to see that she seemed amused.

It felt slightly weird to be hearing stories about Tom from his mother. Not  _ bad _ weird, just this-has-never-happened-to-me-before weird. Like I said, mums generally don’t like me, or confide in me. 

“You’re a good cook,” I said, noticing the deft way she cracked eggs into a bowl. One handed, even! 

“I enjoy it,” she told me with a smile. “Can you cook?” 

“I do a very good line in burnt toast,” I said seriously. “I think burnt brioche is the best though, the burnt bits taste more sweet, less ashy.” I’m not actually _that_ bad, but I can see I’m not in her league. And  I really do have a nasty habit of burning toast. I think I need a new toaster because one side just gets incinerated, I just never seem to get around to buying it.

Diana laughed like I was making a tremendous joke. “I’ll know to rope Tom in if I need any help with dinner, then!”

“Now that’s using your  _ loaf _ ,” I ventured. 

Diana stared at me with wide eyes at me for a long moment.

“You’re trying to get a  _ rise  _ out of me, aren’t you?” 

It was my turn to stare back at her, before I snickered and threw my hands up in surrender.

“You  _ bread  _ my mind!”

I left her to it and scarpered off to find Tom and tell him all about how I had won over his mum with my wit and charm alone… and a third of a bottle of whisky. 

***

_A Hiddleston Christmas_ is actually rather refined. 

At home my brothers and I had usually opened the presents open before Dad got up. A bit like a pack of wild dogs, really. By the time I was ten we’d learned to restrain ourselves until after breakfast, but once it was present time, it was a free for all and we all tore into our gifts at once. Afterwards we had a few minutes of hugs and thank yous. Of course with gifts from aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends to open, it was sometimes hard to even remember what my brothers had got me, but we bluffed it out.

With _A Hiddleston Christmas_ we each had a glass of bucks fizz in hand, then someone was nominated to play Santa (this year it was Tom) and the presents were handed out one at a time, and we all watched as the recipient unwrapped their gift. 

It’s always a bit tedious to watch someone else opening their presents, isn’t it?  I couldn't wait to see what I’d been given, (I’d brought the presents from my friends and family with me so I’d have things to open). However when it came time for Diana and Tom to open their gifts from me, I was a bundle of nerves, hoping they were going to like them. I mean, Tom knew he was getting a bird bath  because I’d opened my big drunken mouth and spoiled it last night,  but he hadn't seen the pictures before. And for Diana, I’d got her a luxury Body Shop gift basket, the most expensive one they made.  I do hope she likes the scents of pomegranate and honey.

I felt both anxious and excited as I realised they were unwrapping my present, then delighted when they were both pleased (and seemed genuinely so). Maybe having a  _ bit _ of patience wasn't so bad. 

I suddenly felt bad for my dad, who for so many years had probably missed the joy on our faces as we tore into our gifts. We always knew which one was his, because his was always the most expensive of the bunch—without our mum around he seemed to work doubly hard to buy good gifts at Christmas, perhaps to make up for her absence. And after all that work,  we had just attacked the presents like a pack of feral children. 

I vowed there and then that when I had kids, we would be adopting _The Hiddleston Method_ for gift opening…  I froze, having just freaked myself out thinking about having kids with Tom . I mean, with Tom, kids might be a real possibility. I don’t want to count my chickens before they’ve hatched, or my babies, for that matter, but for the first time the idea of having children felt like more than just a hypothetical.

I know I'm not ready for kids, not yet, but by Christ we would make attractive babies! Would they be tall like him or short like me?  I zoned out, wondering how our genetics would combine. I have Mum’s brown eyes, but Dad’s are green, so there’s a chance that our kids would have Tom’s gorgeous blue eyes...

We were running low of presents when Tom pulled me from my reverie as he handed me my final present, the tag said it was from him. The box he handed me was jewellery small, but thankfully not ring small. It wasn't that I feared a proposal, just that rings are not very practical in my profession. If you could see some of the things I have to dig around in, you’d understand why! 

Actually, no, probably best not to think too much about before we’ve eaten!

I opened the box and found a lovely gold necklace with a branch-like pendant, and sitting on one branch was a small silver bird. 

“You noticed I like watching the birds in your garden,” I said with a smile. 

“Well you have given most of the—admittedly limited—wildlife in my garden a name, so I knew you liked animals. It was either this or a puppy.”

I laughed at his explanation as I removed the necklace from it’s padded box. 

“Is that a—” I brought it closer to look. One branch had something  sparkling gold and tiny  hanging from it. 

“Pear, yes. It’s a partridge in a pear tree. I thought it rather fitting for a Christmas gift.” 

“Well we do make a good  _ pair _ ,” I grinned as I handed it to him, turning my back and lifting my hair up so he could put it on.  

It was just the right length too, sitting almost on my cleavage, meaning it would be safely tucked into my t-shirt at all times, where it couldn't be damaged as I worked. 

I  bounced  up to look in the mirror above their fireplace and studied my new pendant, running a fingertip along the delicate branch.. 

“It’s beautiful, I love it,” I said as I turned back to him. “A lot better than a  _ partridge in a petri _ , which I got my brother one year.”

I threw my arms around his neck and smiled up at him. His arms slipped around my waist as he nuzzled his nose against my hair. It was rather intimate considering we were in front of his mum, but neither of us felt any awkwardness. 

“Should I expect bird puns all day?” he smirked.

“Always expect the unexpected... but yes,  _ toucan _ !” I nodded my head decisively.

Tom drew himself up and peered down his nose at me. “And if we are not  _ emused _ ?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Challenge me, will he?

“That would be  _ hawkward _ !”

Diana started giggling behind us. I stuck my tongue out at Tom, turned and mimed a curtsy for Diana. She laughed and clapped.

“Well, maybe it’s about time we  _ wrapped  _ this up?” I said. 

“Only if I get to unwrap you later,” he purred in my ear, pulling me into his arms. 

“Tom!” I tried to avoid his kiss since he was getting rather too amorous, considering his mother was in the room.

“Something wrong, darling?”

“Your… ” How did I say this without offending anyone? 

“I’m old, not innocent,” Diana piped up. “And I think that’s my cue to check on the turkey.” 

I waited until the door closed to thump Thomas, but not nearly as hard as he deserved. Somehow though, he melted my anger away and by the time his mother returned—knocking first and taking great pleasure in asking if it was safe to enter—I was looking rather dishevelled. 

That man should come with a warning. 


	3. 2 Turtle Doves

**2 Turtle Doves**

The drive back to London the day after Christmas was dead easy. Even with all the Boxing Day sales, the traffic was nothing like a normal work day so we made it home in record time and Tom dropped me at my flat to unpack and just chill until this evening. He was picking me up at 7pm to go to a party at a friend’s house, which was why we hadn't stayed longer with his mum.

The party tonight was supposed to be Black Tie and Tom had tried his hardest to get me to let him buy me a dress. I’d assured him that my little black dress was more than up for the occasion. It might not be designer, but it was Marks and Spencer, after all!

Besides, while I was wearing the dress, we were _SO_ not going in black tie.

You see, Tom had recently confessed that he had never worn an Ugly Christmas Jumper. Not for a family event, work event, or school event. Now, to my mind this was a travesty that must be corrected as soon as possible, to which end I had purchased us his ‘n’ hers ugly Christmas sweaters.

Honestly, they were so hideous they were beautiful. Each had a turtle dove—two turtle doves, geddit?—on a black background, with snowflakes falling and a trim of small snowmen around the lower hem. The pièce de résistance, however, was that with the flick of a switch, the falling snowflakes were illuminated by flashing LED lights.

They were truly works of art.

Awful, horrible, terrible _art_.

Before Christmas we’d both been a bit busy, so tonight’s party was the first time I’d have a chance to foist it on him. It was kind of fitting that we’d be wearing two turtle doves on the second day of Christmas, too!

I told him to arrive early because I love a man in a tux. Hey, I may not be posh but I’ve watched the Oscars often enough to know that they make a sexy man drop dead gorgeous. Given that Tom was already that, I expected the sight of him in a tux to send my ovaries into spasms of delight.

I wasn't wrong either. He stood on my doorstep and I just looked at him for a moment, drooling. Well, not really _drooling._ But yeah, my mouth was definitely watering. And other things might have been getting wet as well..

I was clad only in a robe, but my makeup was done, and my hair had been half clipped up at the back so it draped over one shoulder. I didn't expect the style to last the next hour, if I was lucky, but it was easy enough to redo.

The moment I reached for him I discovered the only flaw with a tux, there’s no tie to grab onto! I settled for his lapel but it wasn't the same. Nonetheless, he allowed himself to be dragged into my apartment.

We hadn't even said hello and I was pushing him up against the wall and attacking his mouth. We did only have three quarters of an hour, after all, and I needed to make the most of it!

We bumbled our way down the hallway towards the bedroom, bouncing off the walls, pausing only to help me remove his clothes. My robe had been left by the front door and I hadn't even bothered with underwear.

Pants already around his ankles, I pushed Tom back onto the bed so I could get rid of his lovely, shiny,  patent shoes, and all the rest.

I looked up and noticed him watching me.

“It’s kind of ironic that I love seeing you in that thing so much that all I want to do is take it off.” I smirked.

“I am not going to tell my tailor that you dropped his creation on the hall floor.”

I laughed as I gave up on his laces and just pulled his second shoe off. “You should tell him. It drove me crazy with desire is, like, the highest compliment you could pay him!”

The last of his clothes finally tossed aside, I crawled up his body, giving him my best predator expression, and pausing only to lick his shaft and check he was ready for me. I crawled higher until I was straddling his waist and looking into his eyes.

“You look hungry,” I told him, brushing his hair back from his face.

“You know I am,” he purred.

I lowered myself so his dick was nestled between my lips and ran my slit up and down his shaft, using him to rub my clit. I was too worked up to need much foreplay, besides, I knew Tom would take care of me later. Unless I blew my top, like, now!

Tom had closed his eyes and it seemed to be making a superhuman effort not to just take over and fuck me hard. He liked being teased though. Almost as much as I like teasing him.

“Tell me what you need,” I whispered in his ear before I began kissing his neck.

“I need you.”

“Do you?” I was rubbing myself so hard now I was in danger of coming.

Maybe I should, then leave him waiting? Nah, I’m evil but not _that_ evil!

“Yes,” he gasped and looked up into my eyes. “Fuck me, Rocky! Ride my cock like there’s no tomorrow.”

“What do I get in return?” I asked.

“Anything!” Gasping, he pushed his hips up, trying to push his way inside me.

From the desperation in his eyes at that moment, I do believe he meant it. I took pity on us both, knelt up and reached between my legs so I could grasp his cock and position him at my entrance.

He closed his eyes and I slowly sank down, enjoying the almost painful expression his face contorted into. I love that face, love the way the tendons of his neck stand out.

Once fully seated, I sat still for a moment, just getting used to his girth, then I began to ride him. I started slowly and gradually built up my pace. He reached for my breasts and I leaned forward, tits dangling and  giving him better access, and we kissed. I tried not to drive my nails into the skin of his chest. Blood on the white tux shirt wouldn’t do…

Leaning a little farther, I ran my open mouth over his, licking and teasing at his lips. He freed a hand to wrap around the back of my neck to hold me for a firmer kiss.

I would like to tell you I tortured him with my slow pace for ages, but I was almost as desperate as he was, so it wasn't long before I was slamming my pelvis into his, needing greater and greater sensation. Tom joined in, raising his hips so we slammed together in the middle.

I reached between us again and rubbed my clit as best I could while bucking like a rodeo bronco, but luckily it didn't take much stimulation to make me come. I could feel my pussy clamp down on his length, squeezing him tighter, making him feel bigger and bigger..

Tom cried out and froze with his hips high off the bed, literally holding me aloft as he spilled into me. When he lowered himself back down, I stayed where I was, nestled into his chest.

We were both panting but I’d turned the heating down so I wouldn’t weat my makeup off. That turned out to be a good idea for a few minutes, until we began to cool off  and quickly chilled.

With reluctance I got off him and made my way to the bathroom for a quick wash, while he slipped under the covers, where I joined him.

“Should we pick your tux up?” I was suddenly worried about creases.

“It should be okay,” he assured me, so I settled against him and relaxed, although I made sure my alarm clock was within my eyeline.

Unfortunately, we did have someplace to be, so there was no round two, that would have to wait, and with reluctance I climbed out from under the covers.

I left Tom in bed as I scrutinized my appearance in the mirror. My makeup had survived mostly intact thanks to my recent purchases from Sephora. I’d asked for low maintenance—so easy a five year old could do it, were my exact words—and indestructible, if possible. This had resulted in things like BB cream rather than foundation, waterproof everything (almost), and lip stain rather than lipstick. The stain was especially handy as I could wear my usual lip balm on top!

My hair was a total mess but it didn't take long to brush it to the side and put the clip back in. Good job that ‘sexy mess’ was what I was going for.

“So, you know how you said you’ve never been to an Ugly Christmas Jumper party?” I asked as I reapplied the cherry lip balm he’d kissed off.  

“Mmm?” He was enjoying watching me too much to be very coherent.

“And you remember when you just said you’d do anything if I fucked you?”

“Vividly.”

“Well tonight is your Ugly Christmas Jumper party!” I clapped my hands and bounced a little.

He frowned in confusion. “But it’s Black Tie.”

“Which will make it even more fun!” I went to the wardrobe and pulled out the matching jumpers. “His and hers,” I explained. “It’s always easier being an idiot when you’re not alone! Lucky you, I’ll be your co-idiot tonight!” I curtsied for him.

He laughed and shook his head, but he didn't look as opposed as I expected.

“I wonder what Ken would look like if  I turned up in that,” he laughed.

“You don’t have to wonder,” I tempted him, holding the jumper against myself and pirouetting. “Go on, live a little!”

He hesitated for just a brief moment but with a shake of his head, as though he couldn't believe how silly he was being, he agreed.

Fifteen minutes later we headed down to the Lyft Tom had ordered, he was clad in his tux, me in my little black dress, and both wearing turtledove jumpers over the top.

We were cracking up as we got into the car.

***

Ken’s house was on one of those London streets that is deceptive. The houses look like a typical two bay terraced townhouse, maybe three bedrooms in there, but they cost millions in that neighbourhood of London.

Had I known quite how posh Ken was before we went, I might have felt intimidated and tossed the Christmas jumper idea. As it was, Ken was on the stoop greeting another couple as we got out of the taxi.

Just as he was about to close the door I saw him checking no other guests were close and his gaze passed us by. A second later it snapped back as some part of his brain recognised Tom beneath that ugly sweater. It was the cheekbones, I bet. It’s always the cheekbones…

Ken seemed stunned for a moment—his eyes bugging slightly in the most comic double take I’ve ever seen, but I was starting to panic as I thought I’d fucked up again. Then he burst into a bellow of laughter, pointing at the ridiculousness that was our matching  jumpers.

“Oh my god,” he giggled, stepping out onto the street to greet us. “Those are amazing! Where on earth did you find them?”

“Ah, that was Rocky’s doing,” Tom grinned. “Speaking of, Rocky, this is Ken, Ken, this is Rocky.”

Grasping my elbow, Ken leaned in and air kissed my cheek.

“Lovely to meet you, darling!”

Ok, being air kissed by Sir Kenneth Brannaugh was only a little overwhelming. Do you know, his eyes actually twinkle warmly?

“I hope we’re not late?” I asked Ken, as if worried.

“No, no! Of course not!” Ken responded as a proper good host should. I replied as a good guest probably shouldn’t.

“So, is this a House party?” I peered around him in the direction of the voices I could hear chattering away through an arched doorway.

“It is.” Ken’s voice suddenly sounded tentative, as if just discovering that his friend’s girl is rather cerebrally challenged. A little wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he looked closely at me. I heard Tom suck in a sharp breath. He knew something was up. But he didn’t say anything to stop me, or try to gag me, so..

“So, is Hugh Laurie here yet?” I craned my neck, looking toward the doorway. The crease between his eyebrows deepened. Tom snickered quietly behind me.

Then the penny dropped and suddenly Ken’s eyes widened and all his white teeth were on display in a delighted grin. He tossed his head back and laughed.

“No darling, sadly, Hugh isn’t here tonight. But now I’m wishing very much that I had invited him!”

“I’m betting she keeps you on your toes,” Ken said as he guided us inside. “We must get some pictures before you go!”

Our jumpers were well received by everyone, who all found them hilarious. We posed for dozens of people who wanted pictures with us.

There were a couple of snobby people who looked at us like we were something the dog had dragged in, until they noticed that one of the idiots in a stupid jumper was famous actor Tom Hiddleston, then  suddenly we were funny and oh so daring. I would have rolled my eyes at them but idiots like that didn’t bother me enough to. Generally speaking they take life far too seriously and consequently, experience very little joy, I pitied them really.

Probably around a third of the guests were famous, unfortunately it was in the, ‘where the fuck do I know him from?’ kind of way. I asked Tom—discreetly—about two people but when I asked about a brunette lady, he refused to answer!   

“That’s just mean!” I hissed, trying not to look like we were arguing.

“They have no idea who you are, so fair’s fair.” He had that satisfied smirk on his lips so I knew this wasn't at all about fairness.

“Fine, what will it cost me to get their names from you?”

“What’s it worth to you?” he smouldered.

“Name your price, Hiddleston.” I fluffed my hair and smouldered right back at him.

“Hmm,” He rubbed a finger across his lip and gave every appearance of thinking deeply. “Alright, let’s make this interesting.  Every time you guess the name of a famous person, I go down on you. Every time you give up and I tell you, you give me a blow job. We’ll tally the difference at the end and the winner will have a very nice few days.” His smug smile said he knew he’d win.

And goddamn it, he was right! Time to pull out the big guns.

“You know, I’ll bet Ken would tell me, and he’d only charge a kiss per name.”

I’ve heard Tom growl before, but I swear to god, the hairs on my arms stood on end. I shivered. His smug expression turned challenging and he pulled me close as he leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“Of course you can ask Ken, darling, but there are an awful lot of people here whom you don’t know. You’ll be here until next week, paying off your debt to him, and we _both_ know you’d rather be in debt to me.” Tom’s voice was light, but I could see tension in his jaw.

“Well hey, don’t _blow_ this out of proportion!” I teased, considering my options. “Fine, I accept your deal on one condition.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I get one clue per person. If I still don't know who they are, you score one point.”

“Fine, but if you get it after a clue, you only win half a point.”

“Nuh uh, this is your friend’s party, you have the natural advantage! I get one clue and a full point.”

He looked like I was asking for the world and with a dramatic sigh, he conceded to my wishes.

I smirked the concession, and decided to up the ante. I put one finger up and leaned in to murmur in his ear..

“You should know that I intend to collect on my first point before we go home.” I leaned back to watch as he registered my demand. His eyebrows flew up and he glanced around at the party.

“Bring it darling!”

“Hi Tom, how are you?” We turned to see the brunette I’d asked about earlier, and her partner standing behind us.

I smiled because I knew Tom was going to have to introduce us and a first name would help me immensely in guessing her surname. I think I had just found the loophole that was going to win me this little competition. I had to suppress a little wiggle of victory, but I couldn’t hide my big grin.

“I’m good! How are you, darling?” Tom smiled. “This is Rocky, my girlfriend,” he said, pointedly not returning the introduction. Luckily this couple had better manners than Tom. The woman offered her hand to shake.

“It’s so nice to meet you!’ she said enthusiastically, “We thought this one,’ she pointed her thumb at Tom, “was going to stay married to his career! It’s good to see him stepping out! I’m Gina and this is Kez.”

Gina! Yes, I knew her now, from Brideshead Revisited. Her name was Gina… McGee! Yes!

“Lovely to meet you.” I smiled. We made small talk until their glasses needed topping up and I turned to Tom. “Gina McGee,” I said smugly.

“Ooh,” he winced. “So close. Gina Mc _Kee_.”

Damn.

“Fine, one point to you,” I conceded, perhaps a little ungracefully. “Do you ever think that maybe we’re too competitive?”

“When the prize is an orgasm, nope,” he laughed. “Come on, round two awaits. Or we could get right to the part where you pay for my point.” Tom waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Hey, I said I’d collect here on _my_ first point!”

“Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, my dear!”

“Wrong day! This is the two turtle doves day, not the six geese a laying day!”

“And your point is?”

It suddenly occurred to me that I was arguing with Tom about whether to give him a blowjob. What the hell’s _wrong_ with me?? I snapped my mouth shut and was about to take his hand to go and search out a secluded spot. Preferably with a lock on the door and good soundproofing!

“Tom! Lovely to see you!” A man stepped into our path, wearing a burgundy tux. Now I definitely didn’t feel out of place, since someone else had broken the dress code as well. But his tie _was_ black, so maybe not as much.

And that was the beginning of my torment. All I wanted was to slip off and pay my debt, but everywhere we turned people kept coming up to us to chat. I lost _five_ points in a row! I couldn’t figure out Ken’s wife’s name, which really wasn’t fair, because I’d had an idea that his wife was Emma Thompson, but this one was Lindsey.

Although she seemed very nice, I was a little peeved at Ken. I mean, who _wouldn’t_ stay married to Emma Thompson? Hell, _I’d_ marry her!

Then there was some hussy named Ruth something or other who jiggled up to Tom and plastered herself all over him while cooing at him. She came close to being re-named _‘Baldy’_! I recognised Jessica Chastain no problem, but not her husband Gian Luca, who is apparently some kind of Italian nobility. They showed us their baby pictures. They were all adorable! I was interested to note that Tom seemed fascinated.

Next I saw someone I recognized from Wallander but of course, I didn't know her real name.

“Okay, your Wallander costar over there, give me a clue.”

Tom looked and thought for a second before replying, “She’s very clever.”

I racked my brain but I couldn't think of her name, not make sense of the clue.

“I give up.”

“Sarah _Smart_.”

“Bugger.” I sipped my wine. “That was a good clue too.”

“I thought so,” he nodded, trying not to gloat at having another point, which I appreciated.

We chatted to a few couples I didn't recognize and learned they were behind the scenes people, and their partners. They were both very nice to us though, and they loved our jumpers.  

Then I saw my first chance to win a point.

Once we were alone I pointed at the blonde man.

“Jude Law,” I said smugly. “One point to me.” I wrinkled my nose at him.

“You’re really laying down the _law_ , you know.”

I groaned and shook my head at the bad pun, finishing my glass. When I looked around for a server I saw my chance to score another point.

“Okay,” I tugged on Tom’s sleeve to get his attention. “I’m sure I know her from somewhere.” I pointed vaguely to the doorway.

“Which one?” Tom asked.

“The one in the white shirt.”

“It’s black tie, all the men are in white shirts.”

“Oh no, I meant the woman.” It was getting hard to keep a straight face.

“You mean the server?” he asked.

“Yeah, pretty sure I know her.” She was getting closer, offering fresh drinks and collecting dirty glasses.

“Oh, that’s cheating!” he argued.

“No it isn’t. We made a bet about all the people we thought we recognized but couldn't place. A server is just as valid as that last tosser!”

Tom had to bow to my superior logic.

I smiled as she approached and offered her tray for me to put my old glass on and take a fresh one.

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” I asked, playing coy. She just looked confused, which wasn’t surprising.

“You’re Alice Keller, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she was frowning, trying to place me.

“I’m Rocky, from Northgate High School.”

“Rocky? Oh my God, you look so different!” She looked genuinely shocked. It was hardly surprising as I was a total tomboy who had never even heard of makeup and a dress when she knew me.

“How are you?” I asked. She told me she was married with children and taking on a little extra work over Christmas while her husband was at home to watch the baby.

I told her I’d taken over my Dad’s plumbing business.

“You work as a plumber?” she sounded shocked.

“I do, but I scrub up a bit better than I used to.”

“I’ll say!” She looked as if she'd like to carry on chatting but another server caught her attention. “Sorry, I have to get on. It was lovely to see you again.”

“You too.” She headed off and I turned to Tom.

“One more point to me,” I sipped my new wine. I’d have to take an antacid when I got home, this stuff is sharp!

Tom argued that my point wasn’t fair, but I stuck to my guns. I wasn’t about to give up my only advantage—and my shot at having Tom’s talented face between my thighs!

Unfortunately, so many people kept approaching us that we never had a chance to slip away and get busy!

By the time we left, Ken had decided that his party next year was going to be an ugly Christmas sweater party, which pleased me no end.

It was a good job we hadn't had the chance to get naughty in the powder room really, or he might have suggested that next year’s party be an orgy!  


	4. 3 French Hens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a little late today. Enjoy! 
> 
> Also, the sonnet Tom quotes is 130. To listen to Tom read it you can click the link in the fic or I'll put it in the notes at the end too.

**3 French Hens**

“So what are we having?” I asked as I jumped up to sit on the kitchen side so I could peer into the saucepans as he worked. He had one of those posh casserole dishes, Le Creuset I think they call them, simmering on the hob.

“Well I thought we’d keep the 12 days theme going and have Coq au vin.” He lifted the lid so I could see the chicken breasts simmering in the red wine sauce. “Although it’s just one hen, not three, and I seriously doubt it’s French.”

“Smells bloody lovely!” I said, inhaling deeply. “So we’re keeping this 12 days thing going? Taking it in turns?”

“I hope so. Are you enjoying it?”

“I am,” I assured him. “I already have something that could work for tomorrow but I’ll have to put my thinking cap on for the rest of my days.”

“Well not to brag or anything, but,” he leaned in closer and purred in my ear. “I think you’re gonna love my next gift!”

Fuck me! His voice is like a weapon and when he used that deep, fuck-me voice, it goes straight to my pussy and makes it pulse in time to my heartbeat.

“So,” I said, my voice coming out rather squeaky. Tom moved away and checked his dish again, a satisfied smirk on his lips. That fucker knows exactly the effect he has on me. I coughed and tried again. “So, when will it be ready?”

“Oh, another thirty minutes, I should think.”

I bit my lip and pretended to think. “Hmm, I wonder what we could do to kill the time?”

Tom came and stood before me, forcing my knees to part to accommodate him.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something, darling,” he purred in my ear.  “You usually do.”

That deep, fuck-me voice always had me as putty in his hands and I moaned softly.

“I think I have a better idea for the three French Hens- which are neither French, nor are there three of ‘em, might I add.”

“Oh yes?” He turned the (two!) chicken breasts before settling the lid back on the casserole dish and returning it to the oven.

“How about Three French Kisses?”

He blinked at me.

“Well, if you insist.” Tom leaned in to kiss my mouth. I put my hand on his chest and held him away.

“I was thinking more of _proper_ French Kisses, Thomas.” I moved my hand to his shoulder and pressed down. I lifted my eyebrow.

Tom’s white teeth shone in his devilish grin, and he sank to his knees on the kitchen floor.  His hands slid up my legs, over my hips and to the button of my jeans.

In no time at all, he had my jeans down my legs and was lifting each foot to pull my jeans off. I lifted a sock clad foot and pushed against the centre of his chest. Tom gamely fell back on the floor.

Slithering off the countertop, I straddled his waist, shivering when his hands closed around my hips and tugged me forward, over his belly and his chest.

I awkwardly walked my knees up either side of his body, finding myself straddling his shoulders and as wide open as I could be.

I looked down at him between my thighs and bit my lip. He wasn’t looking back up at my face, he was staring at my wide open pussy, his face inches from me. I could feel his breath gusting over my wet folds.

Tom’s hands tightened on my hips and pulled me inexorably forward, lifting his head and kissing me there.

His tongue parted me and I fell forward, thrusting my hand out to catch the cupboard behind Tom’s head and brace myself over him. Gripping my arse, he pulled me down against his mouth, tasting and teasing me.

“Oh fuck me,” I groaned, shifting my hips.

“Not just yet, darling.” He licked me from entrance to clit, circling the tip of his tongue around the hard, swollen knot. I sobbed as he tormented me, riding my clit with just enough to keep me hovering at the edge, but not quite enough to push me over.

Tom had me babbling, pleading with him to let me come, my hand buried and clenching in his hair and hips grinding desperately against his mouth.

He sucked my clit into his mouth and I exploded, writhing on his tongue, thighs clamping his face until I could take no more and pushed away.

I toppled off him onto the floor, panting and laughing at my startled screech at the cold tile. The cold felt bloody good against my heated back.

Tom sat up, wiping his mouth as I lay sprawled on the floor, and grinned down at me.

“You do have the best ideas, Rocky.”

“Well,” I paused as the oven bell went off and Tom scrambled up to turn it off and pull our dinner out, hip checking the oven door to close it. He dropped the oven mitts on the counter and extended a hand to help me up.

“It’s always a good idea to eat pudding first!” He laughed as I found my clothes and slipped back into them.

After a wonderful chicken casserole both of our appetites has been sated for a while, so we adjourned to his living room and snuggled up on his sofa.

Tom surfed through the TV menu, looking for something to interest us until we were ready for round two, then something caught my eye.

“You have porn!” I gasped as I spied Babelicious XXX

“I don’t subscribe to the channel,” he said, a pink blush on his cheeks, and I worried he thought I was judging him. “Internet porn has so much more choice.”

I burst out laughing.

“We should get a subscription,” I said once I’d calmed down again. “It’s been forever since I saw an actual porn movie rather than just clips.”

“Tough Titties is about to start,” he noted.

“Yeah, but the Tripple X Factor sounds better,” I said about the listing on the channel below.

“X-factor it is,” he said, purchasing the movie.

“Oh God!” I suddenly had a bad case of buyer's remorse. “What if it has a Simon Cowell look-a-like?

“Worse would be a Louis Walsh porn stand in, no?”

I groaned because he was right.

“What have I done?” I asked, burying my head in a handy cushion.

“It’s all right, it description says ‘Ben Dover has the Tripple X factor. Follow him as he services the women of Dickland. It’s a hard job butt someone’s got to do it.”

I looked up from my cushion. “No look-a-likes?”

“Not a one,” he assured me and we began watching.

“Hey, we should bet on what’s going to be in here,” I suggested and he paused the movie.

“What, like we make a porn bingo, one square for doggy style, one for anal, etcetera?”

“Kinda, but more like, if it opens on an office block, we say what we think they scenario will be. Naughty secretary spanked by her boss, office christmas party, will someone photocopy their arse?”

“And we make predictions as we go?”

“Yeah. As long as it hasn’t already happened on screen, you can make a prediction about it happening.”

“Take it in turns?”

“Pretty much,” I nodded. “But if I’m not talking you can say two in a row, just don’t cut each other off to make them first.”

“And what does the winner get?” he asked, his voice dropping to that low, sexy tenor that makes my womb quivver.

I hadn't considered a prize but I did like the idea.

“Winner gets… Control in the bedroom.”

“And if it’s a draw?”

“We take turns but I go first.”

“How is that fair?”

“Because a gentleman always let a lady go first.” I teased him.

“No,” he argued, “a gentleman always lets a lady come first!”

“Fine, you win, if it’s a draw, you go first… but it won't be a draw because I’m going to win.”  

He chuckled and pressed play. I snuggled back into him as we waited for the credits to finish and he slipped his arm around my shoulders.

“Oh, overalls and a van. Ladies and gents, place your bets. I vote cable guy!”

“Don’t be silly,” Tom scoffed. “With a tool belt like that, he’s clearly there to mend something. Dishwasher repair man.”

“Sorry, it wasn't his tool _belt_ I was looking at,” I teased as the man rang the doorbell.

 _‘Hi, I got a call about a broken washing machine?’_ the porn star smoldered at a very well endowed and scantily clad client.

“I win!” Tom proclaimed.

“He’s not fixing the _dishwasher_ ,” I reminded him.

“But he’s there to fix something, not install anything.”

He was right. Time to move on.

“Dibbs that when he’s finished, she sits on it while he tests it and the vibrations drive her wild!”

“Oh, good one,” Tom complimented. “Then I bet that someone makes a ‘clearing the pipes’ comment.”

“Just because you like to say that to me, doesn’t mean a porn star would!”

Minutes later I was beetroot red from laughing too hard after the washing machine repairman suggested he ‘service her pipes.’

“Oh my god!” I cried, wiping tears away. “I can’t believe you stole a joke from a porn movie.

Tom paused the movie because I was laughing so hard.

“I didn't steal it,” he sounded extremely offended and even though he was only pretending,  laughed harder. “They stole it from me.”

I was going to give myself a stroke if I kept this up, so I made a concerted effort to calm down.

“I think that’s a point to me,” Tom said smugly as he restarted the movie.

I settled back against Tom as the camera gave us a close up on the guys denim clad crotch.

“So, will they have hairfree genitals, yay or nay?” Tom asked me.

“I call yay... for both of them.”

“Damn it, I was going to say that too.”

“Then you shouldn't have asked me first,” I replied with a very smug smile. “I also call unsafe sex.”

“I bet on anal.”

“Okay, so I get cheesy 80s porn music while they’re having sex.”

“Then I call threesome.”

“There are only two of them!” I laughed.

“This is porn, she probably has a sexy sorority sister stashed somewhere.”

He might have a point.

“In fact they’re probably in a lesbian relationship and for no good reason, decide to try sex with a guy,” he added.

“Fine, then I get two guys one girl threesome.”

“Where’s the guy going to come from?”

“I dunno, a brother? Nah, that’s icky. Maybe they’re hungry when they’re finished and order a pizza.”

“But neither has the money to pay,” Tom finished.

“Exactly! You’re pretty good at this.”

Tom looked thoughtful. “I don't know whether to be proud or insulted.”

I laughed.

Next I claimed, “Ridiculously long penis,” and Tom said he was betting on a “Ridiculously long blow job scene.”

Just then a rather vocal cry of pleasure redirected our attention.

“Damn it,” I cried. “I should have known to say a hot day and broken air conditioning would make the guy have to remove his shirt!”

“Don’t pout,” he teased.

“Oh no, waxed chest!” I grimaced, getting a look at the guy's chest.

“Personally I prefer my women with a waxed chest,” Tom teased me, which earned him an elbow in his side. “So you don’t like hairless chests?” he asked.

“Eww, no! I mean, I’m not looking for a Tom Jones chest wig, but a baby smooth chest? Yeah, I like men who have visible signs of having gone through puberty.”

“And waxed balls?”

I pulled a noncommittal face. “I can see the appeal, getting a hair in your mouth is gross, but yeah, I like hair down there. I’m all for a little manscaping, trim the lad up a bit, but not shaved or waxed. What about you, do you like shaved or hairy women?” I asked as the lady gratuitously bent over while wearing a skirt the size of a belt, and a g-string that moulded itself to her pussy.

“I’m like you, I think, I’m all for neat and tidy but a little grass on the green is a good thing.”

I laughed at his phrasing. “As long as your 9 iron has a nice, long shaft!”

“My stroke is something to behold too,” he practically smouldered and I realised that even making a bad pun, he was a hundred times sexier than this porn movie.

“Oh look, a blowjob.” I pointed at the screen. “So how long is ridiculously long?”

“Didn't realise we were timing it.”

The more of this ridiculous porno we watched, the more bored I became. Eventually, not even the fun of trying to top each other with porn cliches was holding my attention.

I watched Tom out of the corner of my eye. Because, given the chance, who _wouldn’t_ watch Tom?

Tom had grown increasingly silent as he pursed his lips and stared at the terrible acting. I could tell he was critiquing their performances in his head by the grimaces and fidgeting. He sat forward and adjusted the cushion behind him, then attempted to settle comfortably back. Then he stroked his lips thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes.

In mere moments watching Tom had become far more interesting than the porno on the screen. Tom flinched again, so I glanced at the action to see what he was reacting to.

The most boring of blowjobs ever in the history of ever was playing out on the screen. With the most bloody bored looking porn star, making fake moaning noises around the man’s dick, and occasionally remembering that she was supposed to be sexy and happy to be sucking the guy off.

“Bloody hell, that’s enough! The look on that woman’s face could put you off blowjobs forever! And the way that dude just lies there on his back with his arm over his eyes looks like he’s trying to pretend she’s someone else! Eugh!”

I snatched up the remote and muted the telly, tossing it on the floor. I crawled up the sofa to Tom and straddled his lap, steadying myself with a hand on his shoulder and giving an ostentatious sultry flip of my hair, I grinned down at him.

“I should have known better than watching bad porn with a proper actor! Don’t take it so seriously, Tom! It’s not Shakespeare, only porn!”

“Don’t fool yourself, darling. Shakespeare was writing porn as well! He just did it better,” he purred. “And he could make even the most dire insults sound like sweetest romance.”

“Oh, sure,” I scoffed. “Didn’t he write something about how ugly his girlfriend was? I think I remember something like that from school.”

Tom smirked and his hands came around my waist. He relaxed back into the sofa, looking up at me with suddenly half-lidded eyes.

His hands moved slowly up my body. I couldn’t move, I was so caught by the look on his face.

Fingertips moving to brush my eyelids softly, he began to recite.

[ _“My Mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;”_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWheBz-Jtok)

His fingers rested on my lips.

_“Coral is far more red than her lip’s red;_

_“If snow be white,”_ his hands slid down my chest to brush the backs of his hands along the underside of my breasts and my breath caught.

_“Why then her breasts are dun;”_

His slow, measured baritone slid down my spine and heat pooled deep inside me. I wanted, I needed, but I couldn’t break the spell of his voice.

Tom’s hand drifted up to gently push a strand of hair back from my face.

_“If hair be wires, black wires grow on her head.”_

He drew a finger down my cheek.

_“I have seen roses damasked, red and white,_

_But no such roses see I in her cheeks;_

_And in some perfumes there be more delight,”_

_Tom leaned up and brushed my lips teasingly with his._

_“Than in the breath that from my Mistress reeks._

_His breath whispered softly over my lips. Sitting back, he looked at me with a sly expression._

_“I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,”_

_He face palmed himself as he so often does at my bad puns and inappropriately time jokes._

_“That music hath a far more pleasing sound;_

_I grant I never saw a goddess go;_

_My Mistress, when she walks,”_

He gestured at the floor

_“Treads on the ground.”_

And then his arms were wrapped around me and pulled me to his chest, his face buried in my hair.

_“And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare,_

_As any she belied with false compare.”_

I swear I heard his breath hitch and laid a comforting hand on the back of his head, cradling his face against me.

We sat for quite a long while, just enjoying stroking and caressing each other, while I turned his words over. He was right of course. Anything could be porn in the right hands. In his hands.

Tom’s hand cupped my cheek and he drew my face upward to kiss me, oh so gently, exploring my mouth and stroking my tongue with his.

One hand traced the neckline of my shirt hypnotically, over and over, before lifting it over my head and tossing it away.

He made an appreciative sound as his hands cupped my breasts. We both watched his thumbs slide around and over my nipples as they tightened with pleasure.

I moaned and rocked on his lap in need as his lips touched and surrounded my nipple with wet heat, tonguing and tugging on it with careful teeth.

Wrapping an arm around my bum, Tom stood and turned, laying me out on the sofa. He knelt and  leaned back in, taking my other nipple in his mouth as his hands went to the button on my jeans.

He had me out of them and splayed open for him in a trice, without even letting go of my breast. My hands buried themselves in his hair, holding his mouth to my breast as his fingers parted me and traced between my inner lips.

A fingertip slid into me and I groaned, lifting my hips, trying to get more.

“Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?” He murmured as he kissed his way between my breasts.

“Who cares that you have a small scar under your lip, or that your breasts aren’t perfectly symmetrical? Not I. I love your breasts as they are, lopsided as they are. And I’m grateful that you let me touch them.” He kissed the tip of my nipple before continuing.

“You’re beginning to get crows feet beside your eyes, and there’s a silver glint or two in your hair. These things only make you more beautiful to me…

“When you wake in the morning with the remnants of last night’s mascara smeared, and morning breath that could kill canaries in a coal mine, should I care?” His fingers slid teasingly up and down, and invaded me further, pressing and probing until he found the spot that made me groan again.

“No. I’m only happy to wake up next to you.” Only Tom could could say these things to me and leave me feeling cherished.

After another probing kiss, he slid down my body, kissing his way and murmuring into my skin.

“A woman should be loved in her most gritty reality, in all her strife and sin, not because she’s pretty arm candy…”

Then his tongue was playing with my pussy, toying with my lips, pushing into me and swirling around my clit in maddening circles.

“Oh fuck, Tom!” My hands clutched at the sofa cushions to stop myself coming too soon. I wanted this to go on forever…

Two fingers pressing up into my g-spot, he drove me wild lapping over and over at my clit. He turned tormenting my clit into an art form.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as I felt everything grow tighter and tighter, until it all snapped when he sucked my clit into his mouth and pushed hard into my g-spot.

I came with a cry, shuddering and clenching wildly around his fingers. It seemed to go on and on, even as he gentled his touch.

Eventually I sat up and smiled at Tom. “If _that’s_ what I get when you point out my flaws and tell me my boobs are lopsided… be my guest! So Shakespeare tells all his mates that his Mistress is ugly and her breath stinks, but he loves her anyway?” I lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Yep,” Tom nodded. “That’s it exactly.”

“That Shakespeare, what a smooth talker! Here’s what I want to know; did she still speak to him after?”

“I imagine she did, as he only left his _second_ best bed to his wife! But could there be anything more erotic than telling a woman that she’s not perfect, and she doesn’t have to be? That she’s loved for herself, not for the stylised and conventional standards of beauty?”

“Hmm… You know I’m struggling against agreeing with you, right?”

“It’s alright darling, I love you anyway. I’ve proved my point. Anything can be arousing if played well. There’s no excuse for...that.” he waved a hand at the screen, still silently playing.

We headed to bed soon afterwards. One orgasm with Tom was worth about twelve with anyone else, so I figured that I was ahead of the game, even if it was supposed to be three French Kisses. Anyway, sometime in the night I woke him for his own French Kiss. I didn’t hear any objections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To hear to Tom read the sonnet in this fic, go here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWheBz-Jtok


	5. 4 Calling Birds

**4 Calling Birds**

Tom and I were visiting the Christmas fair. Christmas was gone, of course, but the fair would be here until January the fifth. 

We didn’t often go out so blatantly as a couple but it was so cold that we decided with a few judiciously chosen clothes, we could get away with it. 

I shoved my hair under a woolly hat and wore the Michelin Woman outfit that I’d first been photographed with Tom wearing. No one had recognised me then, so I doubted they would now. 

Tom was wearing one of those hats that have ear flaps and can be tied under the chin. It covered his hair completely and by loosley tying the flaps they helped hide his  giveaway  cheekbones. He also had a scarf wrapped around his neck in such a way that his mouth and nose could easily be dipped into it and covered. He wore non-prescription coloured contacts left over from a Halloween costume and an old pair of glasses that looked like Christopher Reeves from the Superman movies. 

The finishing touch was a lilting Irish accent, which I thought might just be even sexier than his normal voice, but that was probably just because it was new. 

To test his disguise out we walked from his house and hailed a cab, rather than using his normal service. When the cab pulled over Tom made sure to stand by the driver's window while I climbed in and told him which fair we were going to. The cabbie didn't blink. 

The cabbie made general chitchat, asking about our Christmas and what we were doing for New Years. In the back, Tom and I tried our hardest not to laugh. The poor driver must have either thought we were high on laughing gas, or that we planned to stiff him on the fee, we were having so much fun. 

In the event he was paid in full—and with a healthy tip—then we headed into the market. 

There were a few parts to the fair, the craft stalls, the food court, the ice rink, and a few fairground rides. We visited the stalls first, admiring the workmanship on offer and Tom bought a few trinkets. I bought some handmade chocolates  for his Mum .

We then made our way to the food stalls and purchased some warm mulled wine to warm us up. After a sit down, we decided to try the ice rink. 

I’d skated a lot in my childhood, we lived not far from a rink and they had child and student offers—basically quiet times where they charged a pittance to increase business. I’d spent quite a few Saturday mornings there with my brothers, who usually went to try and pull pretty girls, and dragged me along because they were my babysitters. Not that I minded. 

I’m ten and eight years younger than my brothers, and the girls seemed to find it sweet that they took such care of their tomboy little sister, so it was a win-win for us all.  My brothers got kisses, and I got lollies.

It took me a couple of laps, but it soon came back and I was doing a few turns and simple spins. I only ended up on my bum once!  At least that bit was well padded.

As for Tom, well, let’s just say that I’d finally found something he  _ wasn’t _ good at! 

To be fair, he wasn't awful, but he also wasn't terribly good. He could skate in a straight line, but that was about all. On each corner he’d flail a little and he fell on his bum quite a few times. After his sixth fall I took pity on him. 

It wasn't entirely altruistic on my part—he’d be useless in bed tonight if he broke his leg! 

“You didn't tell me you could skate!” he accused as I glided over to him.

“It  _ slipped  _ my mind,” I teased.

“Oh, that’s  _ cold _ !” he pouted.

I told him about my brothers and the local rink as I helped him up. I skated backwards while I held his hands so I could talk him through the corners. 

He put a little too much enthusiasm into the turn and nearly overbalanced.

“Careful!” I admonished gently. “But don’t worry too much, if you fall apart,  _ igloo  _ you back together.”

“I might just learn to do this so I can skate away from your terrible puns!”

I noticed that talking to him actually helped him to skate a little more smoothly as he was relying on instinct rather than overthinking and overcorrecting.

“Oh no, am I giving you  _ cold feet _ ?” I teased.

“Where do you get all these?” he asked with a laugh. 

“I’m just naturally punny.” I released his hands but still skated backwards. “Didn't you have rollerblades as a kid?” They were my first introduction to hurtling across surfaces unchecked.  Aside from the time my brother Dave thought it would be fun to push me down a hill in a supermarket trolly. I lived, so that’s enough of that.

“I did some rollerblading in the summer, but they were banned at school,” Tom told me.

“Maybe for the best,” I assured him, pushing my hair back and pointing to a scar near my temple, sort of where it joins my forehead. “That’s from rollerblading down a hill on a dare from my brothers. I hit a tree and one little branch decided it would not yield to the eight year old lunatic careening towards it and  _ stabbed _ me.”

“And it scarred you for life?” he joked. 

“Literally!” I laughed, moving to skate beside him as he was doing so well. “And we can't have your pretty face getting banged up now, can we?” 

“I don't know, darlin’,” he said, still using his sexy Irish accent. “I’ve a few of me own to be going on with.” 

“Well, any you get here will be  _ ice breakers _ .”  I smirked at him 

Tom did fall on his arse another three times before we climbed off the ice, but he sustained sex-life threatening injuries.

Both thoroughly freezing and hungry, we returned to the food court and Tom queued up to get us more mulled wine, while I queued up for burgers and chips from a gourmet food van. I’m not usually one for poncy foods but it is lovely to eat a burger made from quality meat rather than the cheap mystery stuff I remember from my misspent youth.  And it turns out that truffle oil on chips is to die for!

As I left the food van I spotted a couple of girls giggling to each other and looking at their phones and wondered if we’d been rumbled, but then I chided myself. Even if they had recognised Tom and taken some creepshots, it was something I was just going to have to get used to. I could hardly march up to them and demand they delete the pictures, could I?

And in all fairness, they could be squeeing over a text message or Tumblr post or something. It could be perfectly innocent, even if they were facing in Tom’s direction.

I decided the best thing to do was ignore it and hope it was nothing.

Tom had already found a free table and I settled opposite him and handed him his food. 

“So about today’s gift,” I said as I sat down. “I realise these may not be exactly to your taste, but I already had them and they fit today’s theme of four calling birds perfectly. I was going to give you first refusal a little closer to the day, assuming you weren’t away filming or something.” I handed him the envelope which he opened to find tickets to Little Mix. 

“Oh, amazing,” he grinned. “Their show should be brilliant!” 

“You’re not just saying that?” He didn't really seem like their target demographic. 

“I admit I don't have any albums or anything but I enjoy their singles and I love live music.” 

“Really?” 

“I’m shivering with glee,” he told me. 

“I think that’s the cold,” I laughed. “But let’s grab another mulled wine and make our way home, where I promise to thoroughly warm you up!”

“Now how can I refuse an offer like that?” 

“You won’t, if you know what’s good for you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet today, but if we get it finished in time, tomorrow's instalment is sizzling hot!


	6. 5 Gold Rings

**5 Gold Rings**

Tom had a panel at RADA this evening, where he was likely to get photographed. I had been invited but he was going to be there for hours, starting with lunch with the person organising the night, then meetings about other RADA events they wanted him to support. Besides, I really do not want to become tabloid fodder, so I begged off and stayed at his house. 

I had lit a few candles, put on a little soft music, read my book, and enjoyed that friggin’ huge bathtub of his until my skin became all wrinkly!

Because he was out most of the day, I assumed our little gift giving exchange would happen when he returned. The courier who delivered my next gift that evening disabused me of that notion and I wondered why Tom hadn’t given it to me himself.

I unwrapped it eagerly and found a box inside with a Rigby & Peller logo on it. I was none the wiser but it did not look like Five Gold Rings. I breathed a sigh of relief. 

I opened the envelope that rested on top of the box and found Tom’s scrawl. 

_ I know you hate rings, darling, so I got a little imaginative and bought you Five Gold  _ Things _. I hope to I get to see these on you very soon..  _

It was a pretty clever play on words, I admitted. 

I opened the box and pushed aside tissue paper to reveal lingerie, all made from gold silk. It was bloody lovely to the touch! It took a little sorting but I finally figured out that I had a bra, brief panties, a garter, stockings, and a kimono robe. Oh yes,  _ underthings. _

I brought the robe to my face and rubbed it against my cheek, savouring the softness. I couldn't wait to put it on and it was a shame that I wasn’t seeing Tom until much later tonight. A crying shame, I thought as I ran my fingers over the smooth, shining silk, tears pricking my eyes.

It was almost midnight when my mobile suddenly blared out “I’m Too Sexy (for my shirt)” by Right Said Fred. The posh idiot’s ringtone. I stared at the clock, my mind racing with all the possibilities for the evening.

He would have finished his panel about two hours ago, long enough to have have had drinks and do the usual chatting up the fangirls in the theatre bar. 

I didn’t know if he was driving himself home in his Jag, or if he was calling from the back of a town car.  Either one was sexy as fuck. What can I say? I have an overactive imagination. Every time I get in his jag with him, my imagination throws up a vision of Jaguar!Tom in his fly bespoke suit, ordering me to buckle up and hang on tight. I get a little thrill down my spine. Every bloody time.

I shook myself out of my reverie, snatched up my mobile and answered.

“This is Josephine’s Morgue; You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em! How can I help you this evening?”

There was silence for a beat, and Tom burst into laughter. He laughed so hard that I had to laugh, unable to suppress my giggles. 

I could see him in my mind’s eye, slouching spread legged against his seat, with his mobile to his ear and his head falling back, adam’s apple rippling with his laughter.

My breath caught at the vision. I love the way he laughs, with his whole body, and the sound of him never fails to make something melt inside me.

At the same time, my skin was shivering with anticipation, I wanted him more than oxygen at that moment.

“How’s it going?” I asked, stopping my hand from dipping between my legs. Waiting would make it so much better! 

“Just got in the car, I’m probably twenty minutes away.”

“Is that so?” I played dumb. 

“Yes, traffic is light.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yes,” He purred, but I’m immune to that voice over the phone… I wish. Still, he couldn't see my hand creeping south. 

“Okay,” I said, my tone disinterested. “Did you eat or should I pop something in the oven for you?” 

“No, I’ve eaten.” He sounded confused. Maybe he was wondering if his gift hadn't arrived. 

I felt a little bad for not saying thank you, but the greeting he got when he arrived home was going to more than make up for his disappointment now. 

“Okay, see you soon.”

“Right. Bye.” He hung up and I grinned. 

My anticipation of tonight’s festivities had been soaring higher with every hour. By the time Tom called, I was about ready to leap out of my skin. I had to calm the fuck down. First step, stop my hands shaking!

I had just enough time to skin into my five gold  _ things _ . Good job I’d taken a long soak in the most decadent bathtub in London. And taken the time to shave... all over. And used his favourite citrus and lavender lotion all over as well.

I hooked the garter and suspenders around my hips and situated them before sitting on the edge of the bed and carefully rolling the pale gold silk stockings up my smooth legs.  Attaching the suspenders to the tops of the stockings, I stood and watched in the full length mirror, twisting my lips to the side as I adjusted the straps. When I had them just right I blew a kiss at the mirror.

Slipping on the darker gold silk thong, I wriggled my arse to get used to the sensation of the soft, narrow ribbon running between my cheeks.

I reached for the demi cup bra with the pale cream lace accent that ran along the underwire, and sparkling heart shaped rhinestone in the centre. I put it on, bending and letting the girls fall into the cups. I gave my hair a shake while I was down there. 

Yep. I turned in the mirror. That’ll do. I pulled the sinfully soft gold kimono around me and tied the sash, fingering the delicate ecru lace that made a shawl collar. My fingers ran down the silk, calluses catching at the fabric. It’s so beautiful. And I have to admit, I look damn fine.

Checking the time, I scampered into the en suite to do my makeup. Eyeliner wings and a fresh coat of crimson lipstick.

I could hear the thump of the front door closing, and the clatter of Tom’s keys in the bowl. I flipped my hair once more and went to meet my posh idiot at the door.

He was pulling off his pea coat and hanging it on the coat tree by the door when he saw me leaning against the doorway into the lounge, one hand toying with the thigh length hem of my kimono.

In two strides, he was on me, one hand sliding around my back and pulling me up against him and smouldering down at me in the most melodramatic, Clark Gable sort of way, mischief sparking in his eyes. I grinned up at him, leaning back and shaking my hair provocatively around my shoulders, and doing my best porno come-hither. I licked my lips and arched my back to push my boobs into his chest.

Tom grinned and chuckled at my over the top response. His expression slowly melted from his Clark Gable impersonation. His hand curved under my jaw and tenderly cradled my face, tilting my face up to his heating gaze.

“Rocky darling, you look good enough to eat.”

“Then I do hope you’re hungry,” I purred.

“Scandalously peckish, my dear,” he purred right back.

Tonight’s panel at RADA must have gone very well. He’s playful when he’s happy, and I love playful Tom.

I squealed as he suddenly bent and wrapped his arm under my bum, straightening and slinging me over his shoulder. 

“Mind you don’t wake the neighbours, Rocky!” He slapped my arse and admonished me as he started up the stairs.

His big hand spread over my arse cheek and squeezed as I yelped and tried not to kick. We were on the stairs after all.

My hair hanging round my face as I dangled down his back,  I braced myself on the strong muscles moving under my hands. He took the stairs two at a time and strode into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him with a bang, before tossing me onto the bed.

I lay smiling up at him, my hair spread wildly around me and the kimono sash coming undone.

Tom stood and yanked his shirt off over his head, his eyes leaving me only for the briefest moment as he pulled the shirt over his head. I guess he became too impatient with the buttons. He divested the rest of his clothes in a similar frenzy but rather than jumping on me as I half expected, he just stood there for a long moment and drank my image in. His gaze wandered from the top of my head to my toes, then back again, and I could almost feel the warmth from his gaze. 

Then, as if a spell had been broken, he pounced and dropped down over me, holding himself up on straight arms planted on either side of my shoulders. He still had the chill of outdoors on him and I shivered.

He dipped his head and ran the tip of his nose teasingly up the side of mine, his open mouth brushing my lips twice.

I wrapped my leg around his thigh, hungrily pulling him closer.

Using one hand to prop himself up, he used the other one to seperate my kimono, then he palmed my right breast through my bra, rubbing his thumb over the nipple until it pressed against the sheer silk, as hard as a pencil eraser. 

Kissing his way down my body, he crawled backwards until his lips were level with my breasts, then he began to suck and nibble the one he’d already excited. His free hand now rubbed my other breast, quickly exciting that one too, then he switched between them so they were both lavished with kisses and nibbles. 

I slid my hand into his hair and arched my back to encourage him. God, I love it when he plays with my boobs...

The sensation of him doing this over the bra was unusual but not unpleasant. If anything the sensation was slightly dulled, which made me tug on his hair, urging him on to be harder. He obliged. 

I assumed he’d eventually continue his trail down my body so I was surprised when he got off me and I sat up slightly, resting my weight on my elbows behind me. 

He was giving me that predatory look he’s so good at, the one that makes me shiver with desire, and he picked up my left leg and placed my foot on his shoulder. 

He began stroking my stocking clad leg. I hadn't thought to see what the stockings were made of but they felt smoother than nylon. 

For a while he just ran his fingertips up and down my calf, tracing little patterns. It would have been rather innocuous were it not for the fact he was devouring me with his eyes. 

Slowly his hand began going further and further down my leg but when he passed the knee, he brought my other foot up and began stroking both legs in long strokes, from toes to the top of the stockings, but his touch was light, tantalising. 

Finally he broke eye contact and looked at my g-string. He smirked and looked back at me, so I knew the crotch must be soaked with my juices. 

I lay back and closed my eyes, just enjoying the sensations. 

“Look at me, Rocky,” he commanded, and I was powerless to resist. 

He maintained eye contact as he began to kiss his way down my leg, pausing to lick the back of my knee which—fuck me!—felt fabulous! Weird, yes, but oh so sexy! How did I not know knees were erogenous? 

I was distracted from that thought as he resumed his journey, pausing only when he got to the top of my stockings. He unhooked the suspenders as he told me, “I’m going to strip these lovely things from your lovely body, one by one.”

He pulled on my toe and the whole stocking slid off, they were that sheer.. Then he unhooked the other suspender but rather than pulling this one, he gently peeled it down, kissing his way back down my neglected leg. 

“If you keep this teasing going much longer, I might just—” 

“Spontaneously combust?” he asked. 

“I was thinking more, melt into a giant puddle,” I imitated his posh accent. “But both convey the depth of my need rather well.” I did my best to look down my nose at him, which was a feat from flat on my back, let me tell you!

He smirked at my reply but didn't stop kissing my leg. He paused at the knee again and kiss and licked the back of it. 

I gasped and closed my eyes, as everything clenched, from my teeth to my toes

Suddenly he spanked my arse! Well, really the top of my thigh more than the bum. It wasn't hard but it was a shock. I might have shrieked. A bit.

“I told you to look at me,” he chastised me in is deep, Loki voice. 

I considered being contrary but to be honest, I quite like it when he’s bossy. As long as I get my turn.

Finally both stockings were off and I liked my chances of being fucked sometime soon. His rather angry looking cock seemed to agree with me. But Tom seemed to be in charge, not his dick, and he drew things out a bit, to my increasing impatience.

He delicately curled his fingers in the waistband of my pretty excuse for knickers and slowly peeled them down, kneeling to slip them off my feet. He turned to drop them on my stockings and turned back to me.

I opened my mouth to tell him to hurry, please hurry, but he interrupted me before I got a word out.

“We’ll have none of your clever mouth just now, Rocky, thank you very much.” 

“But Tom,” I pouted, “You’ve given me nothing better to do with my clever mouth,” I pouted harder and wriggled for emphasis.

Tom stared at me with narrowed eyes. Oops. 

He pushed away from the bed and turned to the small pile of lingerie. He picked up the whisp of gold lace that was a thong and examined it, glancing over at me, before shaking his head and dropping it. He reached for a stocking and turned, drawing it through his fingers.

“Um, just to be clear,” I said a little nervously, tilting my head up to watch him, “you’re not annoyed enough to, like, strangle me or anything. Right?” I swallowed dryly.

Tom just shook his head. He bent over me and held up a hand with my scrunched up stocking in it. He held it there, inches from my face and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

I stared at the stocking and back at Tom. The reality hit me like a fist. He wanted to gag me. With my own stocking. I blinked. He waited.

What the hell. I opened my mouth.

Tom swiftly pushed the bit of silk into my mouth, (before I could change my mind?), gently and smoothly. There really wasn’t enough to fill my mouth.

“Perhaps this will help you keep quiet. You’ll be able to spit this out if you need to, I’m not tying you into it, right?” Tom waited until I nodded, before going on. I worked the silk around with my tongue, trying to get used to it. What he said next pretty much got my attention. 

“I’m very busy making love to my delicious girlfriend, Rocky. I want to concentrate, so I’ll thank you to stop distracting me.”

Well, when he put it that way…

Tom’s hands settled on my knees and began a slow slide up the inside of my thighs. Very slow. His hands separated at the apex, his long fingers moving over my hips. He drew his thumbs along the tender creases in my groin in a barely there touch, over and over.

My hips lifted, aching for him to touch me between my legs. My whole lower half vibrated with need for him to touch me. I only realised I’d opened my legs when I felt the cool air on my heated bits.

Holding my gaze, he smirked and swept his hands up to my ribs.

He bent and tongued my navel, making me giggle. I was startled at how muffled the sound was, I’d almost forgotten. 

Tom climbed onto the bed and knelt between my legs, shuffling my thighs a little more open. He leaned forward on straight arms, looming over me and staring into my eyes. Slowly his eyes slid down my body, pausing to stare at the rapid pulse beating in my neck before moving over my boobs.

Sitting back on his knees, he reached up and pulled my bra down under my boobs. He smiled and traced a finger along bra fabric that shoved my tits together and displayed them. He seems quite pleased with himself.

He licked at a nipple, drawing back to watch it harden, and licking it again. Then the other, happily back and forth. I was practically writhing, loving it, but desperate to have him inside me.

I captured one of his legs with mine and managed to squirm enough to bring his hard thigh in contact with my pussy, and rubbed against it like the shameless hussy I am. I groaned into my gag at the little bit of relief I was able to steal from his slow seduction. 

Tom let go of my boobs and looked down at where I was frankly humping him. I watched his eyes shutter as his fingers reached to touch his thigh. He lifted them and we could both see the moisture glinting in the low light. 

Good job I’m not a porn actress. I huffed a laugh. No one’s ever going to put cold packs on  _ my _ pussy!

My muffled giggle drew Tom’s attention, and his eyes narrowed. Oops.

Before I had time to take another breath, Tom flipped me over and used the suspender belt still hooked around my waist to lift my hips. He pushed my shoulders down with one hand and the other one was suddenly pushing a finger into me.

I gasped at all the sensations assaulting me and pushed the stocking out of my mouth  with my tongue so I could pant. He’d been teasing me so long that I was teetering on the edge of coming just from his fingers inside me. Yeah, then those fingers began to probe. 

He pulled his fingers free and I wanted to scream my frustration, but suddenly they were surrounding my clit, little compressing pulses sending me right back to the edge.

My hands curled into the sheets beside my head to stop me stuffing my fist in my mouth and biting down. I turned my face into the sheet as well, muffling my moans. If he doesn’t fuck me s-

I screamed when he pushed his cock all the way in, grabbing my hips and pulling me back to grind against him with a groan. He rocked me back and forth on his cock in long slow glides, gradually pushing harder and faster.

I was nearly delirious and desperate to come, whispering  _ please _ ,  _ please _ ,  _ please _ into the sheets.

Tom let go of one hip and slid the hand under me, his fingers finding my clit unerringly and teasing it in just the right way. When he tapped it suddenly I exploded. Imploded. Whatever, it blew me apart over and over again as I screamed into the sheets.

Tom’s hand was in my hair, yanking my head up to hear my scream. He swore and threw himself on top of me, driving deeper and harder as he came in heaving pulses, before collapsing completely. We both lay limply and panting just until I started to feel the need to draw a full breath. He rolled off me instantly, turning me to face him.

“Jesus, Rocky. That was… Are you alright?” He panted. I nodded.

“Yeah,” I croaked and cleared my throat. “Can we do it again?”

Tom burst into laughter and wrapped me in his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“Give me a minute to get my breath back.”

I nestled my face into his chest and yawned.

“Wake me when you do.” I muttered.

 


	7. 6 Geese a Laying

**6 Geese a Laying**

It was the day before New Years Eve and I was installing Tom’s birdbath in his postage stamp sized garden. Harrold and Harriette, the resident robins, were watching from the fence as I set the bath in a concrete base surrounded by his large flower bed. 

I’d been supposed to have the whole day off but an emergency callout had kept me busy that morning. It wasn't a cheap call either, so I hadn't minded too much. The family had been in New York for two weeks over Christmas and got home yesterday to find their pipes frozen solid. They made do with no water for the night, figuring the central heating would thaw things out by morning. 

And it did. 

The wife got up for a pee at 4am and found her ensuite bathroom flooded and about a third of the bedroom carpet waterlogged. Before I got there at 5am—I was the first person they called who would come before 7am—they’d discovered a second leak in the kitchen! I charge quadruple time for overnight calls, plus a callout fee. I’d told them to turn the stopcock for the house off, but evidently they didn't even know where the stopcock was. Instead they turned the outside tap off, so water had been pouring out for another hour after discovery!

And all this because they’d turned their heating off while they were away to save money. Talk about a false economy!

They were so happy to see me I think they’d have  given me one of their children, but I’d have prefered they  signed one of their brand new looking 4x4s over to me. Alas, I’m not that mercenary.  Also, the kids weren’t that cute.  I’d taken the call rather than sending it to voicemail, meaning I was already awake, meaning I might as well go earn some money. December is a quiet month so every little helps. 

I was regretting it now, though. Cold is not nice at the best of times, but it feels even more biting when you’re sleep deprived. 

I was a little late getting to Tom’s, but he wasn't overly anal about timekeeping. Since he was always running late himself, he couldn't really complain at me. With it getting dark so early I only had about an hour of daylight left, so I got straight to work as soon as I got there. 

Tom was answering some emails in his office. He’d offered to help but I shooed him away because frankly, he’s more of a hinderance. He seemed a little weird though, but I needed to get the bird bath finished, so I delayed questioning him.

It was cold, but dry and bright, so I actually enjoyed myself. I love working with my hands,  even if I have to wear liners in my gloves.

I called Tom when I came in so he could have a look and he grinned. “It looks lovely, darling.”

Harold and Harriette were already having a quick splash.

I shivered and blew into my hands to warm them up. 

“How about a nice hot bath to warm you up?” he suggested in his seductive voice. 

“Only if you join me.” 

I twisted my hair up, using a couple of pencils to hold it in place so I didn't have to worry about it getting wet. Then I added some of my lovely champagne suds to the bathwater, which makes your skin feel like silk.

The water was almost scalding hot and I had to inch myself in a little at a time but, oh,  once I was immersed, I sighed with contentment. Tom busied himself getting fresh fluffy towels out, then he set a playlist going on his iPhone, then he fetched us both beers, and lastly he lit some of the candles which just  _ mysteriously _ seem to appear in his bathroom ever since he started dating me. 

“Why is there a weird looking scented candle in my bathroom?” he’d asked one day, as if personally offended by scented candles. 

I could have just told him I’d brought it from home. It was my favorite brand because, while they’re organic and don’t use any artificial scents, they’re not too pricey. Considering my baths are usually half an hour once a week, a few candles is a luxury I can well afford. Plus candlelight is relaxing. 

I can’t stand most scented candles, or air fresheners for that matter, I can smell that they’re synthetic.  But these were the organic ones, scented with orange oil. They smelled lovely, but the scent didn’t get any stronger as they burned.

I decided it was more fun to play dumb though.  I batted my eyelashes innocently.

“I dunno. Did you buy one and forget about it?” 

“I think I’d remember.” He knew full well I’d placed it there but he played along. 

“Maybe it got cold and decided to move in.”

“A candle just followed me home one day?” he asked with his ridiculously sexy smirk. 

“Why not?” I shrugged. 

“Well, I hope it doesn't get lonely.” 

And after that a range of candles joined the first, some in jars, some tealights, some altar candles. Most were unscented. I’d make a bet with myself on how long it would take him to notice each new addition. 

Finally Tom was ready to join me in the water, but he didn't have to inch himself in like I had, so I guessed the water had cooled a few degrees. 

We just chatted for a long while, about nothing in particular, on topics ranging from current affairs, to music, and Greek mythology. My only exposure to Greek mythology was through the Percy Jackson movies, but I loved listening to Tom retell some of the classic stories. He’s not very succinct but his enthusiasm for the source material is infectious.  _ And  _ he does the voices!

Then, when he was suitably relaxed, I began my interrogation. 

“So, what has you wound so tightly?” I asked.  He’d had those little lines of tension between his eyebrows all day, and I’d noticed the muscle in his jaw jumping as he lit the candles.

“Ah.” He reached for his beer and took a sip. “You noticed that.”

I shrugged. 

“Someone took pictures of us at the ice rink.”  His head tilted down and he winced as if waiting for an explosion.

_ Oh… Well… _ _ deep breath…  _ “At least  _ I _ wasn't wearing a silly hat!” 

He gasped in outrage. “ _ You _ said I should wear the trapper hat!”

“It was worth a shot,” I sipped my beer nonchalantly, trying not to reveal the inner turmoil I felt. “Do they know who I am?”

“No, but they have realised you’re the same  _ mystery  _ woman from last year.”

It wasn't like last Christmas though, seeing those pictures of me and Tom in the park had felt invasive and creepy. They’d had me looking over my shoulder for days. 

This was still invasive and creepy but, maybe because I’d been expecting it to happen again for the last year, I didn't feel as bad as I’d expected . It felt inevitable. Like going to the dentist, you hate it but you know it’s got to happen, so better to get it over with.  And pray that there are no cavities, and you’ll be able to get on your merry way.

“Are you okay?” Tom was watching me closely.

“I knew going out in public with you was a risk.” I shrugged. 

“Will you stop shrugging and talk to me?” 

“I don't know what else to do,” I shrugged. “I don’t know how I feel yet , to tell you the truth .”

We sat in silence, the mood was ruined but I wasn't ready to get out yet. Suddenly things outside this bathtub felt very hostile. 

I added more hot water to the bath and sipped my beer. 

“It feels inevitable,” I finally said. “I don't like it, but I suppose I have to get used to it.” 

He nodded, agreeing. 

“I suppose we were lucky to have a year,” I said as he reached out and took my hand, twining his fingers with mine. He gave me a sad smile. 

“Let’s try and forget it for now.” I returned his smile. “I will not let gossip rags ruin my evening  with you. And you know, don’t you, that it’s just my loss of privacy that bugs me, not that I’m ashamed to be seen with you, right?”

Tom turned my face up to his and searched my eyes. Seeing my sincerity, he kissed me sweetly.

An hour and a half after we got in, we decided to dry off  snickering at each other’s pruney fingers .

We headed to his bedroom, where I keep some clean clothes and a few changes of underwear. I went to pick a pair of PJ’s out—in case we went downstairs again later—but before I could open the drawer, my towel, which had been fastened around my breasts, was whipped away. 

If he was expecting me to shriek and try to cover myself, he had another think coming. 

I turned to face him, my right hand on my hip and wearing only a distinctly unimpressed expression. 

“I suppose you think you’re clever?” I asked rhetorically. 

“Rather,” he nodded, his eyes glued  happily  to my breasts. 

“You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.”  I snarked, flipping my hair back carelessly.

I should have known he’d take my facetious comment seriously. 

“What a marvelous idea!” He dashed off, leaving me standing there, naked, hand on hip, glaring at an empty room. Bastard had even taken the towel! 

The way I saw it, I had two choices. I could get dressed and put an end to the sexy times to teach him a lesson about respect… or something. Or, I could climb on the bed and pose like Playboy had just offered me a hundred grand. And the thing was, I really did want to get laid. 

I confess, I was also getting a little turned on by the thought of being photographed.  Complete strangers can ogle my old puffy coat, but only Tom gets the  _ real _ view.

I climbed onto the bed, lying sideways, my head propped up on my bent arm and my free hand caressing my hip, tummy and breasts. I tried raising one leg, then lowering it, then raising it and putting my foot behind my other knee. 

I heard the soft thump of footsteps on carpet so I hastily lowered my leg. Tom appeared in the doorway with a fuck-off camera in his hands, by which I mean it looked hella professional and expensive. After the iCloud  hack a few years ago, I was glad he didn't intend to use his iPhone’s camera.

He was still clad in only his towel, so I could easily see that he was as excited at the prospect as I was.  Must be handy to have your own built in towel hanger.

“Is having a penis fun?” I asked randomly to take my mind off my nervousness about those  _ other  _ photos. Tom looked up and blinked at me, then down at the bulge in his towel. He smirked.

“Oh, it has its ups and downs.”

I had a giggle fit, snorting and wheezing.

Tom  reached for the lens cap. 

“Uh uh!” I admonished, holding my hand up in the universal stop sign. “Before you remove that cap, you have to agree to the terms and conditions.” 

“Which are?” 

“First, no sharing. Ever. You never upload them to the cloud, you never send them to anyone but me.”

“I’d never betray you like that,” he assured me. 

“ I know you wouldn’t, Thomas. Because  secondly, I get to take pics of you.”

“Seems like a fair exchange,” he agreed, removing the lens cap. “Now give me your best laugh.”

_ Laugh _ ? “You don’t want a sexy pout?”

“Nothing is sexier than a laugh and a smile,” he assured me. 

“You want a laugh? Make me!”

“I had a dream the other night that I was cutting carrots with the Grim Reaper. I was dicing with death.”

I tried my hardest not to smile. 

“Someone complimented me on my parking today. They left a note on the windscreen saying ‘Parking Fine.’ That was nice of them.”

I will not laugh, I will  _ not  _ laugh!

“I’ve just been on a once-in-a-lifetime holiday. I’ll tell you what, never again.”

Not laughing was getting harder and harder. 

“I was having dinner with a director and his wife asked, ‘How many potatoes would you like, Tom?’. I said ‘just the one please.’ She said ‘It’s OK, you don’t have to be polite.’ ‘Alright,’ I said, ‘I’ll just have one then, you stupid cow.’”

I laughed and shook my head. 

“Where do you get all these?”

“Tim Vine mostly.” he began snapping away, mostly leaving me to pose but occasionally telling me what to do. His voice was so commanding that I obeyed almost without question, and it was very sexy. 

“Open your legs,” he ordered. I did, but I was a little hesitant. “Wider. Wider.” 

Reclining on the bed, propped up on my elbows, my legs splayed lewdly, I was hiding nothing. I ran one hand from my knee towards my pussy. 

“Play with yourself,” he ordered. “Rub your clit for me.”

How could I resist a plea like that? E specially when that’s exactly what I wanted to do!

“Look how wet you are.” He kept snapping pictures. “You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” 

“And you’re not?” I looked pointedly at the bulge in his towel. 

He looked down and offered me a sheepish smile. “Can you blame me?”

“Not at all, but if you don’t fuck me soon I may  do my nut .” 

“Is that right?” he smirked. 

“Oh yes.”

“Well then.” He put the camera down on the chest of drawers behind him. “It would be remiss of me not to offer aid to someone so clearly in need.” 

I laughed at the way he made it sound like he was doing me a favour. 

He dropped his towel then climbed onto the bed, between my legs. 

“Lie back,” he ordered. And I did.  So really, he  _ was _ doing me a favor.

I was so turned on that I expected him to fuck me immediately, but he paused as he crawled up my body to lavish attnetion onto my clit. It was already so sensitive that I practically levitated off the bed as he took the little nub between his teeth, very gently biting down while his tongue rubbed the sensitive tip. 

“Fuck!” I hissed. “Oh fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” I came that quickly, but he refused to relinquish my little bud, instead wringing wave after wave of pleasure from me. 

When he finally released me, I was wrung out, totally spent, until I felt him slip inside, filling me with his thick length.

“Oh fuck!” I gasped. 

Tom must have been pretty eager too, because he didn't last as long as usual, but each time his pelvis met mine, my clit throbbed, sending a tingle of pleasure through my  pussy.

I watched the look of bliss on Tom’s face and cupped his face in my hands, stroking my thumbs over his cheekbones.

I stretched up and kissed him softly, which caused him to open his eyes and smile down at me. 

After a few moments he pulled out and we snuggled together under the covers, resting until we regained the power of speech.

“That was hot,” I told him. 

“It was rather.” he chuckled. 

“I’m looking forward to repaying the favour,” I reminded him. 

“And I will be putty in your very capable hands,” he assured me.  “And I’ll forgive you for not doing the 12 days gift today. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Fuck!” With everything going on today, I’d forgotten about the 12 days exchange we were doing. I scrambled out of bed, and naked as jaybird, I  scampered  downstairs and rummaged in my work bag until I found the box. 

I hid it behind my back when I returned and when I presented  the egg carton to him , I could see his excitement dim, but he quickly covered it. 

Well really, who would be excited to receive 6 large, free range hens eggs. I mean, eggs are nice and all, but not really gift material. 

“I cry  _ fowl _ ,” Tom said with a cheeky crin. “These are chicken eggs, not goose eggs.”

“Open it,” I urged as I handed him the box. 

He did and his eyes lit up like a kid’s as he spotted six Kinder Surprise eggs inside. It had been ages since I’d had a kinder egg, but I vividly remember assembling the toys inside. 

I climbed into bed with him and he took the first egg and unwrapped it. 

“Oh my God,” he said as he opened the yellow capsule inside. “I can’t remember the last time I had a Kinder egg!”

“So you like it?” He looked enthused, but really, kiddies’ toy eggs weren’t that much better than hens eggs. It was hardly hundreds of pounds worth of lingerie. The problem was, it was either kinder eggs, or  Fabergé  eggs, and  Fabergé  is just a teensy weensy bit out of my price range. 

“You silly  _ goose _ , I love it,” he said with genuine glee, leaning over to steal a kiss. “You’re too  _ kinder _ .” 

“You’re hilarious,” I laughed at the bad puns. “I'm  _ quacking  _ up.”

“You should be careful, laughing so much, you could hurt yourself.”

“The only danger I’m in, is of you giving me another  _ goose egg _ on my forehead.” 

We opened all the eggs, three each, and assembled the toys inside.  I had to fight him for my share of the chocolate though.

“I remember these being much harder,” I said. “There’s only about two or three parts these days. 

“I know what you mean,” he nodded. “Did you know, Kinder eggs were banned in America until recently?” 

“Really?” I’d never heard that. 

“Yep, they said they were too dangerous.”

I frowned. “Are you pulling my leg?” 

“No, I’m absolutely serious.” 

“The country that lets people own machine guns thought Kinder eggs were dangerous?” I rolled my eyes.

We ended up with a car, a minion, a turtle, a lion, a Kylo Ren, and an elf. It was a cool haul and for some reason we decided to have death matches between various toys. It was rather like a dungeons and dragons game but with no rules and no dice. We just each gave our combatant moves and decided who was likely to win each round. 

First was my car vs Tom’s turtle. Car should have won but turtle’s a sneaky bugger and clogged up the car’s exhaust. Tom crowed and raised his arms like Rocky Balboa (with a name like mine, I have to specify) when he reached the top of the steps.

“You’re  _ shell _ -ebrating in style,” I pouted. “But don’t worry, my minion will thrash your Elf!”

“That’s fightin’ talk , matey !” Tom said in a pirated accent, which made me laugh for it’s sheer randomness. 

I won. 

“We made made Filet  _ Minion _ from that elf!” I’m not a very gracious winner either.

“Don’t laugh,” Tom admonished. “This is very damaging for his  _ elf _ -confidence.”

“At least he wasn’t too badly beaten and still has his  _ ‘elf _ ,” I fired back. 

Tom then fought with Kylo Ren against _‘My_ _Mane Man_ ,’ the Lion. 

“Nothing beats a lightsaber!” Tom crowed. He was right.

“He may have lost, but he lost with honour,” I declared. “And I ain’t even  _ lion _ !”

Next my Minion faced his Turtle. 

“We  _ turtley  _ thrashed you!” I declared with glee.

“Maybe, but a minion can’t beat a Sith Lord!”  Tom grinned smugly.

“Because of his  _ sith  _ sense?” 

Tom groaned. 

“You know I can pun you into submission… And I will.  I don’t need no stinkin’ Force, I’m gifted with the Dark Side of Puns!  Do you give up  yet ?”  I offered him an easy out, which I knew he wouldn’t take.

“No way!”  Tom drew himself up indignantly. He was so cute.

So Minion and Kylo faced off and I’m sorry to say, it was a banana coloured blood bath. But every move I made contained a pun so I  claimed victory for my puns.  But we were both laughing, which is what really matters.  Tom seemed to think that my victory dance was sexy, with my tits bouncing around freely. So whether I won or not, I won!

And boy, did I win! Again!

It was getting late, but neither of us had eaten,  and we were famished from all the fightin’ an’ fuckin’,  so we dressed in our PJs and headed downstairs to pop a frozen pizza in the oven before returning to bed  with it . 

“Wanna hear a pizza joke?” I asked as I licked tomato sauce off my thumb, cocking my head in challenge.

“Alright..?” Tom said cautiously.

“Never mind. It’s too cheesy.” I bit into another slice as Tom groaned. We munched happily until every scrap was gone and we were duelling over the last olive. I won that, too.

“ _ Olive _ you.” I offered the bit to him. He wrapped his lips around my fingers and nipped it away. 

Tom sat back and cupped my cheek, his eyes softening.

“I never  _ sausage  _ a beautiful girl as you…”

Awww.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and to any Scots out there, Happy Night Afore!


	8. Seven Swans A Swimming

I stared at myself in the mirror, at this ‘vision of loveliness’, and all I wanted to do was rip this gorgeous gown from my body, kick off the stupid-high silver and crystal heels that go with the ice blue lace gown, and run screaming.  
But I’m not going to, because I am a mature woman who recognises that Tom was truly trying to do something wonderful for me. It’s not his fault that his definition of wonderful is wildly different to mine!  
Seven Swans a Swimming. I shook my head. Why did I ever agree to this? I had thought that Tom might do something fun and silly, like rent one of the punts down at the lake and take me out on the water for a picnic while we watched out for swans and froze our arses off, or some such thing.  
But no. For today’s Seven Swans gift Tom has decided to tart me up like Cinderella and take me out tonight in grand style. He’d started with a His ‘n Hers spa day.  
I am the anti-Cinderella.  
Parts of it were actually fun. Sitting side by side in fluffy dressing gowns, drinking mimosas and snickering with Tom about silly shit while a couple of very nice looking ladies gave us pedicures turned out to be sort of fun..  
Oh, it was weird at first, having some strange woman touching my feet and clucking over the state of them. Apparently, all my life I’ve been doing it wrong. Having feet, I mean. And my boots have given me calluses on my feet that refined ladies aren’t supposed to have!  
But hey, once I managed to get the ladies laughing about needing combat pay to fix my Velociraptor feet, and asked what colour nail varnish Velociraptors should wear (any colour they want!) it was all good. I told them part of the story of the day some Posh Idiot’s faucet exploded, and we had a jolly time.  
With that, I didn’t even mind that my pedicurist spent a ridiculous amount of time with a pumice stone, trying to turn my feet into something fit for glass slippers.  
The manicurist who was working on my hands and tutting at my unvarnished, short clipped fingernails wanted to fit me with a full set of artificial nails. She wasn’t amused when I laughed. In fact she went grim and silent.  
Fine. Fuck her. I work with my hands, ok? She could keep her silent disapproval and shove it next to that big old stick up her tight arse! I ignored her until she wanted to know what colour my dress was so that ‘we’ could pick an appropriate colour for ‘our’ nails  
“I don’t know,” I jerked my thumb at Tom in the next chair. “Ask him, it’s nothing to do with me!”  
“Blue! It’s blue!” Tom offered hurriedly, perhaps aware that my patience with the woman was wearing a might thin.  
Well, blue wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe. Probably. Tom had insisted on keeping everything a mystery, and that included what I was wearing, where we were going, and what we were doing.  
Ms. Stick-up-her-arse started quizzing Tom on exactly what shade of blue, what sort of event it was, yadda yadda.  
Tom smiled charmingly at the woman, and the sour disapproval dropped right off her face.  
Tom side-eyed me as I sat there scowling narrow eyed at this bitch who was trying her best to ruin my surprise. The thing was, she was actually ruining Tom’s surprise, and it was pissing me off!  
He invited her out into the corridor to discuss it out of my earshot.  
You know those soppy blondes in Beauty and the Beast who sigh and swoon every time that utter twat Gaston looks their way? Yeah. She followed him eagerly, tossing a smug smile over her shoulder at me, as if to say ‘See, he wants to tell me the secret, not you!’  
I felt slightly ashamed of myself for letting on to Tom that I was maybe not 100% enthusiastic about today’s extravaganza.   
I determined that I was going to put a good face on. Delighted. I was going to be absolutely fucking delighted at whatever Tom’s scheme was! If it kills me, I was going to be delighted. Because Tom’s gone to a lot of trouble and I don’t want to disappoint him. And yeah, I was getting curiouser and curiouser.  
He’s been like an eager puppy wanting to show me his favourite chew toys and throwing ball, and I’m going to do nothing to diminish his enjoyment!  
Tom came back a few minutes later, smiling and saying that everything’s all sorted. He sat back in his chair, giving his hand to his manicurist to finish his interrupted cuticle treatment. Which is a thing, I guess.  
A moment later a plump woman with a kind face came in and sat down in my manicurist’s chair, murmuring that the other woman was late for a regular appointment and she, Joanie, would be filling in. Thank you, Tom!  
“In that case, you might want to be careful of that chair,” I warned.  
Joanie glanced down at the chair in confusion.  
“Why? Is there something wrong with it?”  
“I don’t know for sure, but I think it might have sticks that it inserts up backsides…’  
Joanie cracked up, and then we were chatting away like chums. Soon she was telling me jokes about giving hand jobs all day, and we were all good. She buffed my nails and applied a really lovely ice blue colour varnish to my nails.  
Then it was time for the next thing. I gulped down the last of my mimosa before following our guide and Tom out.  
The next torment appeared to be a massage. We were led into a small private room with soft music piped in that sounded sort of like Enya, and two side by side massage tables. We were invited to get naked, climb up on the tables, and relax. Our masseuses would be with us momentarily.  
Tom, of course had no inhibitions at all, dropping his dressing gown and climbing up, pulling a thin blanket over his lower half, he lay comfortably on his belly and looked at me. His head was cradled in his folded arms.  
I reluctantly did the same, but if it was weird to have a stranger touching my bare feet, how much weirder was it going to be for a stranger to touch my bare everything else??  
“Will you relax?? You look like you’re going to vibrate right off that table,” Tom grinned.  
“Don’t tell me to relax,” I said somewhat desperately, “my tension is the only thing holding me together!”  
Tom chuckled. “You’ll like it, Rocky, I promise!”  
I huffed disbelievingly as I squirmed on the paper covering that crinkled loudly with my every movement. The cushion under the paper was hard, and my boobs were squished flat uncomfortably.  
Tom rolled his eyes and reached across the gap to grasp my hand. I immediately felt better. I rolled my shoulders, trying to be a good sport and relax as Tom had said.  
I took a deep breath and concentrated on not snatching up my blanket and covering myself like a numpty when our masseuses entered a few moments later. My masseuse eyed me assessingly, while Tom’s got right to work on him, judging by the heavy groans. Oh god. It’s a good thing that his masseuse was male and I know that Tom is strictly het. Still, I wish I had made Tom make that sound!  
Josh, my masseuse asked me a few questions and ascertained that I was a massage virgin. He assured me that he’d be gentle with me for my first time.  
I did jump a little, despite my best efforts, when he first touched my back, but at least his hands were warm.  
“I’m going to rub some of this tiger balm on your back, if that’s alright,” he asked quietly.  
“It’s not made of real tigers, is it?” Hey, in an upscale place like this, ya never know what wildly expensive, strange stuff they consider normal to slather on unsuspecting clients, right?  
“Oh no,” Josh said, “no tigers were harmed in the making of this lotion!” He leaned a little closer to my ear. “The baby powder, however…”  
I laughed and relaxed. “Good to know! Ok, do your worst. I’m in your hands.”  
Tom was right. I did enjoy the massage. In fact, Josh almost put me right to sleep. Too bad that we eventually had to move on to the next bit. But I did feel warm and glowy after the massage and I smelt good from the lotion. I’m going to get some of those hot rock thingies.  
Hair and makeup were next for me. Oh yay. I get my hair cut every couple of months. By a professional, mind you! I went to secondary school with Barb, and she has a little shop just a few streets over from home. She knows to give me an easy care, wash and dry cut, no ridiculously time consuming daily hair styling routine required.  
Tom was taken off to another part of the spa for whatever they were going to do to him next, leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a cheerful wink.  
I sat gingerly on the hairstylist’s chair and blurted out my tale of woe to Josie. I mean my story of a big surprise day and night created for me by my loving boyfriend! I told her that I had no idea where we were going, and no idea what would be appropriate for my hair, but that I was pretty sure that my dress was blue. She looked a little horrified when I told her that she could do whatever she wanted with my hair as long as I could still scrape it back into a tail tomorrow for work.   
“So you just need pretty hair for the night, Cinderella, and you’ll be happy as long as you can turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?” She cocked a teasing eyebrow at me.  
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Do you think you can do something with my mop, Fairy Godmother?” I lifted up a hank of my chestnut coloured hair questioningly.   
“Yes. As long as you promise me one thing.” She folded her arms sternly.  
“And what’s that?” I asked warily.  
“Promise me you’ll never tell another hairdresser to do whatever she likes with your hair! Dear god, you’re just a babe amongst the wolves, aren’t you?”   
I blinked. Nobody had accused me of being an innocent in a long while. I nodded meekly.  
“Yes Ma’am, I promise.” I said solemnly.  
“Right. We’ll do you right, never fear. I’ve never lost a client yet!”  
“So you cut hair for the shear fun of it?” I asked innocently. Josie snickered.  
“Yes I do! And for the shear fun of cashing my paycheque, of course! Plus it’s so exciting!”  
Exciting? What’s exciting about cutting hair? I’d be bored out of my skull. I made a skeptical noise.  
“Yes! A client nearly died right in front of me yesterday!”  
“Really? Jeez, what happened?”  
“I counted to ten and put the scissors down!”  
We laughed and Josie proceeded to do whatever she liked with my hair. As it turned out, I rather liked it too.  
In the end she put something really nice called plum lowlights in, before trimming the ends and wrapping my hair in enormous rollers, the size of orange juice cans they were! In the end it still looked like my hair, only neater and shinier. Then she piled all the curls loosely on top of my head with pretty crystal pins and sprayed the fuck out of it to keep it all in place. I could have withstood a hurricane! It looked beautiful! It felt like a helmet.  
Then the makeup. Fortunately, all I had to do was sit there, preferably quietly, while Mr. Frederick did whatever he had to do to make me presentable to the Queen. Steam facial, exfoliation, lotions, war paint, whatever.   
I have no idea who that woman in the looking glass was, but I didn’t really want to. She was gorgeous. She looked good enough to hang off the arm of a film star.   
“This must be how Cinderella felt,” I said with a laugh, determined to try to enjoy myself for Tom’s sake. Right out of the Brothers Grimm, I thought, er, grimmly. “But, this has nothing to do with Seven Swans a Swimming, Hiddleston, so isn’t it about time you told me what this was all in aid of?” I cocked my head curiously.  
“Ah. Well, I got us tickets for the ballet tonight. Swan Lake to be exact.”   
I felt a stab of pure terror. He wanted me to go to a ballet? Richard Gere might have covered for Julia Roberts slip at the Opera, but I was more likely to say, “Fuck me that was good!” and there was no ballet called Buck Tree that we could blame my outburst on.   
On the other hand, it was a poncy ballet, so the chances were I’d hate it. Maybe this was one of those things you just have to endure in a relationship. At least Tom wasn't a petrol head, right? Watching Swan Lake couldn't be worse than hearing the statistics of the Bugatti Veyron for the 20th time, could it?  
I knew I’d feel self conscious in this gown, I’d never done gowns before. But he’d felt self conscious in my ugly christmas jumper, so I couldn't complain if it was my turn. Fair’s fair, right?  
I was glad my little black dress wasn't here, she’d be incredibly intimidated by this fabulous fashion statement. Mind you, she had worked awfully hard since I’d met Tom, especially over Christmas. She deserved a night off.   
As we left, Tom handed me a synopsis of the story of Swan Lake he’d printed from Wikipedia, just in case I had trouble following. Explaining that dance is hard to interpret sometimes and it might not even be in English.   
When Tom calls a cab, usually what he’s calling is a Town Car, although he does it from an app on his phone, like Uber. He explained once that the firm’s drivers all sign confidentiality agreements, so stories about their famous passengers don’t appear in the gossip rags. Really it’s just like an Uber or Lyft, except they’re very posh cars. Sometimes just fancy cars, like Mercedes or Lexus, other times the’re kitted out with privacy screens and mini bars. This was one of the latter nights.   
“Oh fuck!” I said after reading a few paragraphs. I saw the driver’s gaze flick to me in the rearview mirror. “This is the one they perform in that Natalie Portman film, Black Swan, isn't it?” Why hadn’t I made that connection earlier?  
“Uh, yes, actually.” Tom nodded and took my hand.  
“Well I don’t know why you bothered having my makeup done, I’ll look like some melted Kiss reject by the end.”   
“You’re not a fan of unhappy endings?” he asked.   
“Depends. Knowing the sad is coming sucks, though.”  
“Well if it helps, I believe this production has one of the happy endings.”   
“Wait, there are different endings?” Ballet is weirder than I thought.  
“There are many different interpretations of the story. Much like Shakespeare, some do a totally faithful production, others chop and change it, or even just use the basic outline and change the setting or time period, totally changing the language.”  
“Huh. So is this a happy one?” I really didn't want to bawl my eyes out on my first trip to the ballet.   
“I’m not a hundred percent sure, darling, but the program will tell us.”   
I nodded and resigned myself to the possibility I might soon look like something from a horror movie.   
“I hope you brought a spare hanky or three.”   
Tom chuckled. “And if I haven't, will you swan off on me?”  
I groaned at the pun. “I really should have thought of that one. I’m losing my touch.”  
“I’m sure it’ll come back,” he tried to reassure me.   
“Well it’s your fault,” I informed him.   
“Me? How?”  
“‘Cos you’ve given me so many fowl-related gifts recently, it’s made me a little bird-brained.”   
“And she’s baaack!” Tom grinned.   
We were dropped at the side entrance, the stage door, because Tom didn't want to chance being photographed. Being a ballet, there were no paps in attendance because most ballet stars are not famous in TMZ circles. Other attendees could recognise us however, so Tom had arranged that we come in this way, which I appreciated.   
Not that I was likely to be recognised tonight. After my makeover, my own dad would probably have trouble picking me out of a lineup! Hell, I’d probably have trouble picking me out of a lineup.   
He’d warned me that pics might appear online, but then we always took that risk. If it happened, at least no one who knows me would suspect it was me!  
We were led to a box, which seemed rather extravagant to me, and a nice usher took our drink orders and brought them to us. I really wanted a beer, but settled for the Champagne that Tom ordered. Because I was a good girlfriend.  
The ballet was beautiful, breathtaking, and I was green with envy at how lovely and graceful the dancers were. But the thing with all the feet thumping on the stage? That was strange and took some time getting used to!  
During the intermission I noticed a few people below us turn and peruse the boxes, nudging at each other and pointing out celebs. Tom and I sat back in case they decided to get their cameras out. The usher returned and brought another bottle of champers. Tom asked how I was enjoying the show.   
“I thought it’d be a little… poncy and pretentious, but I’m really enjoying it. And the music keeps giving me goosebumps!”  
Tom was clearly thrilled with my proclamation and took my hand, kissing the back of it.   
I decided not to check the program to see if it said anything about the ending so I was pleasantly surprised when it had a happy ending with Odette and Siegfried defeating Rothbart and living happily ever after. It was still moving though, and Tom had to lend me his hankie again!   
We stayed in the box, finishing the champagne while the audience cleared out, because we didn't want to run into too many people on the way out, so I took the opportunity to lax lyrical on what we’d just seen.   
“I mean, how do they do that? Balance not on their toes, but the tips of their toes? It’s not human! It defies the laws of physics!”   
“Well, you’re not wrong,” Tom laughed. “Have you ever danced?”   
“Mum took me to lessons when I was a tot apparently, but I don't remember them. I don't even know what kind of dancing it was, but Dad has a picture of me in some weird, blue, leotard-slash-dress thing from a recital the dance school did. They taught us the Gay Gordons in school once too, but that’s the extent. How about you?”   
“Only for work, but I confess, the waltz is a favorite of mine.”   
Before we could continue the discussion, a gentleman bustled in and Tom introduced him as his friend, Yousef, the ballet’s choreographer! This was his first time choreographing for the Royal Ballet and he was thrilled with how the show was being received.   
I didn't really know how to compliment a ballet but I made sure to tell him how much I enjoyed it and which parts. I left out my mini-rant about defying the laws of physics.  
Yousef graciously ushered us through the building and back to the stage door, where the car was waiting. Thankfully there were not many people around, so we took a few moments to thank and congratulate Yousef. Tom and he both seemed pleased when I asked for his autograph on my programme.  
Once safely ensconced in the car and on our way home. I turned to Tom.   
“Tonight was magical,” I said as leaned over and snuggled into Tom. “Thank you.”   
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I could hear the smile in his voice and he pressed a kiss to the top of my hair.   
It was sort of magical. But I’m going to have to figure out how to tell Tom that it was a once in a lifetime experience… I love that he wanted to do something special for me. But we’re going to have to talk about the fact that the tarted-up me that he spent the evening with is not actually me. And I don’t ever want to be her.  
I’d much rather curl up on the sofa with Tom, a beer, and Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen.  
Now, as I thought over it, while some aspects of today had felt incredibly odd and had made me feel awkward, I was really glad we’d done it.   
It wasn’t that Ballet was my new favorite pastime, or that I wanted to get tarted up like that regularly. I’m never going to want to be Tom’s Red Carpet Arm Candy. It was more about making Tom happy, and that made me happy.  
Besides, we wouldn't be doing things like that every week. Hell, even every year was highly unlikely. But I might be persuaded to do it again sometime.   
I mean, he goes to the theatre quite often, but that’s just live movies really, so now our secret is out, I’m happy to go to them with him, if they sound interesting. Like me, he isn’t very into the more highbrow arts, like ballet and opera. And Premieres are just part of his job, but they’re not my job.  
I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror as we got back, and I smiled. I looked so different it was almost like another persona. Cos-play! My spy persona perhaps! Yeah, Rocky Bond, femme fatale! Shake me, baby, don’t stir me!  
I giggled and followed Tom into the living room where he caught me off guard by suddenly pulling me to him and looking at me with that predatory stare of his that makes me weak in the knees.   
But he didn't kiss me.   
After a few long moments I smiled nervously, wondering what the hell was going on.   
Tom brought his left wrist up and I could see his watch, the second hand fluidly moving towards 12 o’clock.   
“Ten, nine,” he began to count, his voice like warm honey. I had almost forgotten it was New Years Eve.   
I watched the second hand with him, my breathing became shallow and as he reached one, he turned to me and kissed me, softly, sweetly, lovingly.   
“Happy New Year, Rocky,” he said as he pulled away.   
“Happy New Year,” I smiled, but it quickly turned cheeky. “Now isn't about time you fulfilled this little fairytale adventure?”   
He looked confused.   
“Cinderella went to the ball but now it’s gone midnight and,” I looked down at my dress, “isn’t it about time my gown magically disappeared?”  
He caught on and flashed me a wicked smile.   
“It’ll disappear all right, but there’s nothing magical about it.”   
I felt the zip on my dress slowly lowering as he kissed me again.  
Something told me this New Year was going to be very special indeed.


	9. Technical Difficulties

Sorry folks. The next chapter will be delayed due to Technical Difficulties. I'll get back to Rocky and Tom when I can. In the meantime, Have a lovely and Happy New Year!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Today’s chapter was supposed to be 8 Maids, but Rocky had Things to Say, and it got a little out of hand. 8 Maids ought to be ready tomorrow. I hope! 
> 
> I do so apologize for being so tardy with the rest of these chapters, it's entirely my fault! Life happens. But we hope you enjoy them when they get here!

I woke with Tom leaning up on one elbow and grinning down at me. I blinked muzzily at him in the bright morning light.

No matter how much I grumble, he will insist on leaving his bedroom curtains open to the morning sun. Fortunately, we live in Britain, so they’re more likely to be open to the morning rain.

But not this morning. I blinked some more, realising that this morning’s sun had created a gingery halo around Tom’s hair. With the beard, he looks like a scruffy angel. Can angels be scruffy? I don’t care, mine can! I smiled up at him.

“Good morning, Pumpkin!”

“Pumpkin?? That’s a new one.” I stared at him in puzzlement, still not fully awake.

“Cinderella has turned back into a pumpkin. My pumpkin.” He gently traced a finger down my cheek as I yawned. My mouth snapped shut mid-yawn. Cinderella. Pumpkin.

Oh holy fuck! Tom took me straight to bed last night, still wearing my Cinderella hair and my Cinderella makeup.

I groaned, slapping a hand over my face and trying to push him away. He didn’t move an inch.

“God, don’t look! I must look a fright!”

Tom continued to grin down at me. If anything, his grin got wider. He pulled my hand from my face.

“You, my love, are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, with your hair falling madly about your face and your eye makeup smeared. You look like a well used woman! My woman.” He kissed the tip of my nose, and I stopped struggling.

“Well, your woman needs a pee! Give over, will you?”

Tom chuckled and rolled away, letting me up. I scrambled for the loo, nearly going arse over tit tripping over the remnants of last night’s tuxedo strewn over the carpet.

I sat and sighed in relief. There went about half a bottle of Tom’s very expensive champagne!

Finishing up, I went to wash my hands. I glanced up into the mirror, seeing myself for the first time that morning.

I screamed.

Hair every which way, and raccoon eyes. Not just raccoon eyes, panda eyes! Huge black eyeholes in a skull! Death on two legs! One of my false eyelashes from last night had gone. I looked like that emoticon with one wide eye and one squinty eye!

I could hear Tom laughing from the bedroom. Bastard. I bolted back through the door, slamming it behind me as if the hounds of hell were after me, and leaned hard against it, panting.

“Don’t open it! Quasimodo’s in there looking out the mirror!” I panted. Tom laughed louder.

“No, she’s not! There’s only a pumpkin here!”

And then he did that thing with his face.

Predator!Tom stood slowly and stalked me. I pushed back against the closed door, pretending to be frightened and frantically looking for escape.

Tom stopped in front of me, grasped my arms and yanked me against his body. I writhed, as if trying to get free, but really just taking the opportunity to rub up against him. Mmm.

“Come here, little pumpkin,” he purred in that damned voice of his. “I’m hungry. I think I’ll have something pumpkin for breakfast!”

With that he lifted me off my feet and tossed me onto the bed.

“Oh please, Prince Charming, please don’t squash me!”

Amusement warred with lust in his face.

“I’m not Prince Charming this morning, little pumpkin. I’m the Big Bad Wolf come to eat you up!” He growled.

I cringed away, wringing my hands as he slowly prowled onto the bed and knelt over me on all fours.

“Wait,” I said indignantly, “That’s not even the right fairytale!”

“Darling, I…am an Act-or!” He held a hand out dramatically, as if holding a script. “I can be any character I wish! And who’s to stop me? You… little pumpkin?”

He actually snarled and snapped like a wolf! And he did it so realistically that I got chills as well! What does a poor little pumpkin do when confronted with a great big howling wolf? Make it work.

I reached out and patted him on the head.

“What a pretty puppy! Who’s a good boy??” I scratched behind his ear.

Tom pounced, knocking me back and licking my face all over as I giggled and tried fruitlessly to fend him off.

“Eugh! Bad puppy!” I thrashed my head, laughing and trying to stop him licking my face.

Suddenly Tom sat up, a peculiar look on his face.

“What?” I blinked at him in surprise. I hadn’t actually meant him to stop, I was enjoying our morning tussle.

Making a face, he pushed his tongue out as if he’d tasted something nasty.

“Pumpkins taste weird.”

I collapsed in giggles. They’d sprayed something that smelled suspiciously like hairspray on my face to ‘set’ my makeup at the spa yesterday. If it tastes like it smelt, no wonder he looked like he wanted to wipe his tongue on his sleeve. But, oops! No sleeves! My posh idiot wasn’t crass enough to actually wipe his tongue on his arm, though he surely looked like he wanted to!

“What? I thought you liked the taste of pumpkin in the morning, Mr. Big Bad!” I grinned at him. “Ready to let me wash my face now?”

“Yes! Absolutely! I’ll go with you!” Tom scrambled off the bed, tugging me urgently along with him, whilst I snickered.

He stood in all his naked glory next to me, brushing his teeth as I scrubbed at my face with a wet flannel. That stuff sure is stubborn!

Tom rinsed and spit while I was still scrubbing away, trying to clear up the mascara under my eyes. He moved behind me, wrapping his arms around me and leaning down to kiss behind my ear.

Making a comical face at my hairsprayed, scratchy hair, he began to search out and pull the rest of the pins from my updo. He snickered when my hair stayed mostly in place.

“Right. Shower, love?”

“Yes, please. But then can we get back to Mr. Big Bad?” I batted my eyelash at him in the mirror before reaching to peel away the remaining false eyelash.

He chuckled, stepping away to switch the shower on.

“Of course, love”

Tom helped me shampoo the gunk out of my hair, and conditioned it too.

Then Mr. Big Bad ‘helped’ me get clean, bending me over to get to those hard to reach places…

He licked me over and over, his tongue swirling around my clit. My hands scrabbled for purchase against the shower tile, desperate to find something to hang onto as my knees weakened.

God, my orgasm didn’t build slowly, didn’t gather in my pussy and pulse outward, it happened everywhere, all over! Like being struck by lightning!

If Tom hadn’t caught me when my knees gave out, I’d have smashed face first into the tile. I only figured that out later though. In the moment, I hung limply from his arm wrapped around my middle, completely spent.

Tom waited a beat or six, until I started to regain my senses, then bent his knees and drove into me. I screamed at the shock of his invasion, loving every second.

Tom pushed me against the tile wall, a hand between my shoulder blades, the other grasping my hip, holding me steady while he pounded into me, swearing and fucking me hard.

The hand on my hip let go and slid around to press against my clit rhythmically, driving me up onto my toes and into another orgasm, clenching wildly around his cock.

Stiffening, he pressed me flat against the tile as he drove every last bit of his own orgasm into me and collapsed against my back, breathing heavily into my ear.

Abruptly he pulled out, turning me.

“Rocky, are you alright,” he asked frantically.

I could only laugh tiredly. “After that, I’ll never be alright again. And I’m just fine with that!”

Tom left me to dry my hair while he made tea. By the time I’d got through my thick mane - I really do love these plum lowlights!- Tom was back on the bed with a couple of mugs.

I climbed into the bed beside him and he handed me a mug just as I like it, milk, no sugar. He leaned back against the headboard, fluffing pillows, and pulled me down onto his shoulder. I threw my leg over him and rolled my face into his chest and kissed him there. I fit just right into the hollow of his shoulder, like it was made for me. I wished I could stay there all day.

But Tom had a meeting, and I had things that I needed to do, too. I sighed, appreciating these moments of quiet, when it’s just the two of us.

Tom’s arm went around my shoulders and he nuzzled into my hair for a brief kiss, before sipping from his mug. We drank companionably for several minutes, charging our batteries for the day to come.

“So, Rocky, what did you think of your Princess for a Day experience?” He watched me over his tea cup, the steam curling up.

I paused to sip my tea and think. Tom’s voice had been quietly curious.

“You know, one of the things that I like about you is the way you dive into new experiences. You’re all, ‘New experience? Two scoops, please!’. You just grab onto it with this glee! I really admire that. And I really like that you want me to have new experiences too. So that’s my New Years resolution. I’m going to try to be more open to new experiences, even when I’m uncomfortable.”

I said slowly. “The day was…interesting. I’ll tell you what, I now have a better appreciation for what your co-stars go through for Red Carpet events!”

“Yes, but how was your experience?” Tom probed patiently, not to be put off so easily. I sighed.

“Parts of it were lovely and I enjoyed it. But I felt…strange. It’s not me, you know? When I was a kid I never wanted to be the Princess. It seemed like they were all beautiful, but not much was expected of them beyond that. I always wanted to be the fairy godmother, or the genie! I thought it was the coolest thing to wave a wand or whatever and make things happen.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully, all his attention on me.

“I felt…I felt like an impostor, like a stranger to myself. I mean, I felt nervous and out of place at first. But once I relaxed, I enjoyed it. Everybody was just great!” I wrinkled my nose. “Except that manicurist cow. What ever did you say to her? And thank you for making her go away, she was really harshing my buzz, you know?”

“I could see that, darling,” he laughed and shrugged . “Gave her 50 quid to take herself off. The other lady, Joanie? She overheard and kindly offered to come finish the job.”

“Well, thanks. Joanie was great. I’m sorry that I was so-“

“Nonsense!” Tom jumped in. “Everyone could see that she wasn’t treating you right. It wasn’t your fault at all!’

“But-“

He interrupted me again. “Forget her. Tell me about the rest?”

“Well, as I said, parts of it were wonderful. I loved the massage, I’d definitely do that again. Though it was a little weird having a strange man touching my naked body…”

Tom stirred and grimaced. So maybe he hadn’t cared much for that part.

“Thanks for holding my hand, it really helped.” I leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“As for the hair and makeup, it was a little…” I cringed, but I didn’t have any other word for it.

Tom nudged me. “Go on.”

“Right. Well, it was a little…a lot… boring in parts. I mean, I’m not used to spending a whole day sitting on my arse with nothing to do!”

Tom chuckled. “Welcome to my world! I spend an awful lot of time in makeup chairs, playing with my mobile.”

“Wait!” I said in mock outrage. “You mean I could have been on my mobile the whole time looking up more trivia to beat you with?? Now you tell me!”

Tom snickered.

“Really, the best part was just getting to spend a whole day with you. And the Ballet really was just magical…the costumes, the dancers, the music, the theatre… I felt a little like we were part of the whole performance. All in all, it was a fascinating experience.”

“Would you do it again?” He prompted curiously.

“Well, not on the regular, but I might be persuaded…for a suitable bribe.”

Tom squeezed me and laughed. “Name your terms!”

“Um, really good pumpkin sex after?”

Tom kissed me. It was quite a good, hot down payment on the pumpkin sex, I think.

I was reluctant to bring this part up, but he seemed to sincerely want to know, so…

“You have to understand, Tom. I grew up a grotty little motherless kid in a grotty neighbourhood. Tomboy was the nicest thing I was called in those days. I was fine with that. I’ve never, ever wanted the girly thing. I always wanted to be useful, like the genie in Aladin, not beautiful like the Princess.

But Mum… Mum was girly. Mum was beautiful. No. Gorgeous. I mean like, Princess Grace gorgeous. I don’t know how she and Dad ever even got together. She was so out of Dad’s league it was like Peacock marrying a…a Bear. A big, burly, growling, Teddy Bear. I know for certain that she would never have married Dad, if she hadn’t turned up preggers with Mikey. I know for certain, because she often told us kids how we had ruined her life. It’s one of the few memories I have of her. Dad had no idea.

Tom’s grip on me tightened. “God, Rocky.” I shrugged.

“It’s all water under the bridge now. But Dad had adored her, and he thought she hung the moon. And when she left, well… Dad did the best he could for us kids.

But I know that sometimes he couldn’t bear to look at me, because I looked so much like her. When I was little my hair was really blonde, like hers. It got darker as I got older. As a kid, people often said how beautiful I was, how much I looked like her, until I was old enough to make them stop. Mum was so egocentric that she gave me her name. That’s why I don’t go round telling nosy parkers the name on my birth certificate. I don’t ever want to be known by her name! My name is Rocky.” I said firmly.

“It hurt my Dad so much when she left us. She never really had much to do with me anyway, she was too busy looking in the mirror and flirting with everything in trousers, so it wasn’t a huge change for me when she skived off. I just started spending even more time with my Dad.”

“That’s where you learned to be a plumber? Your Dad?”

“Right. The one big problem was that I was too young to leave on my own, but Dad didn’t have the cash to hire a carer for me. So, he solved that by simply taking me along on calls. The boys were old enough to manage on their own, but handing over a five year old girl to care for would have been too cruel.

Anyway, I was raised by my Dad, and he never had much time for women. I think he was not just hurt, but really humiliated when she scarpered with that Estate Agent tosser. So the only real female role model I had was my mum, and no way did I want to be like her!

“But when I looked into the mirror yesterday, with my face painted just so, and my hair up, and that gorgeous gown, I could have been looking at my mum, and it was kind of terrifying.” I shuddered.

“I sort of wondered, when I was looking in the mirror before we left for the ballet…” I felt so awkward asking him this, but I had to know. “I sort of wondered… if you preferred that lady in the mirror to me?” I rushed on. “I know I’m a bit grubby, and not what you’d call feminine or refined -“

“No darling!” Tom turned my face up to search my eyes. “You were beautiful last night, elegant and poised, but then you’re always beautiful! You’re even more stunning right this moment with your bare face, and your warm eyes, wrapped in my arms. You’re beautiful all the way through! I wasn’t trying to hint that I want you to be more like…that.

“You don’t have to wear makeup and get your nails done to be feminine. You’re the most delectably feminine thing I’ve ever met, and you do it all just by being you!

“I’ll never be disappointed that you’re not comfortable with all the rigamarole. If all I really wanted was a pretty woman to hang off my arm and smile, I could rent one. You’re so much more than that. I’d never want you to be anyone other than yourself, grubby bits and all!”

I laughed in relief, truly relaxing for the first time in the last 24 hours.

“Hey!” I said indignantly, “My ‘bits’ aren’t grubby! I’ve just had a shower!”

In a lightning move, Tom rolled on top of me, pinning me to the bed and licking my neck.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to see about getting you all grubby again, won’t I?!”


	11. Eight Maids a Milking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does Rocky do when she can't think of Tom's gift for Eight Maids a Milking? Make chicken soup, and a hash of puns, of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late! Late! Late!

Tom had to hurry into his clothes to make a lunch meeting with Luke. And I had to hurry into mine to get home and figure out what the hell I’m going to do for Tom’s eighth day gift.

Think. Think. Think. Eight maids a milking? Wtf do I do for that?!

Tom will be over in a few hours, and I have to come up with his gift. Milkmaids? Ok. Milk. Maids... eight photos of me in a milkmaid costume?

Boring!

This is udderly problematic!

Tour a dairy farm? Yeah, no. Even if I could book us in on New Year’s Day, it’s bloody freezing. The cows would be giving ice cream!

Wait... Ice Cream? Making ice cream? Nope. I don’t have one of those home ice cream maker thingies, and it’s too late to get one.

Fuck me, why didn’t I figure this one out well beforehand?!

Milk...Milk Tray? Wait. Milk Tray Man? I remember those old Milk Tray adverts from when I was a kid. With the James Bond type character going through shark infested waters and jumping from helicopters to deliver a box of Milk Tray chocolates to a Lady... ‘And all because the Lady loves Milk Tray.”

Huh. I could easily run out and get a Milk Tray from Tesco...

And a James Bond film! We’ll watch a James Bond film and I’ll feed Tom chocolates! Now that’s my kind of evening! Even better, I know Tom would be happy to have an evening in.

I changed my clothes when I got home, scrambling into jeans and a red jumper, stuffed my feet into my trusty boots and grabbed my bag, and was out again in about 5 minutes.

Of course, just because I as in a hurry, and because it was just gone Christmas week, I had to drive to three different Tescos to find a box of Milk Tray left behind by the shopping hordes. As I was there, I picked up a carton of milk, a box of tampons and a counter roast chicken.

Chicken soup has got fuck-all to do with 8 Maids a Milking, Milk Tray, or James Bond, but I figure that we’ll need some actual food, and Tom loves my chicken soup. I’d had to learn to cook in self defense, growing up with three men who would just as happily eat beans on toast for every meal! Maybe I should make it Cream of Chicken soup…

I stood in the check out line and tried not to fidget my impatience . I wanted to get on so I could go down to the workshop and get started on my 10 Pipers Piping gift.

I fled home as fast as I could to get the soup veggies prepped. I’ll throw it all together after I finish my next job.

I prayed that some tosser, erm, client wouldn’t call with an emergency today. At least tonight, if I do get called out, I won’t be in a ballgown at the ballet! I’ll be in my jeans and comfy cardi- that I’d borrowed from Tom and haven’t (oops!) given back yet. Feeding Tom chocolates while snuggled up against him watching Bond get shaken, not stirred? Priceless!

Somehow, they neglected to make any Milk Tray Man films, so we’ll make do with Bond, James Bond. Brosnan is my favourite Bond. I just adore his cheeky, over the top Bond. The sparkling blue eyes and chiseled jaw don’t hurt, either. Much.

A thrill of pleasure ran down my spine as I remembered that I’ll have my very own sparkling blue eyed, chiseled jaw bloke to watch with.

It’s not much, compared to last night’s Seven Swans Extravaganza, but I know that he loves staying in with me as much as I love it. He doesn’t often get the chance when he’s working.

Tom was due soon. I had plenty of time to finish my project, get home, and start the soup.

And then, while I was working I thought a wonderful, naughty, and terrifying thought. I remembered that the lady in one of the Milk Tray adverts had been wearing a floaty white dress with a white halter and a swirly skirt.

I had something very like it in my closet. I had a swirly white chiffon skirt. And I had a white chiffon halter top blouse. I’d never worn them together somehow, only as separates. And they were both rather sheer-ish.

But what if the Milk Tray lady wore that sheer white blouse and skirt, …but neglected to wear undergarments?

I nearly burned myself with my acetylene torch when I imagined the look on Tom’s face when I opened the door wearing that!

A blush raced up my body, starting from the soles of my feet.

I stepped back and turned off the spurting flame. I glanced at the clock on the wall. I just had time.

I put my tools away and rushed home, shedding my boot and jacket at the front door, throwing the soup that I’d prepped earlier into a pot to heat, and raced into my bedroom .

I had to dig around quite a bit in the back of my closet where all my summer gear had been pushed. Both things were clothes that I hadn’t worn in years, really.

The full skirt was pretty sheer. I’d always liked to wear a coloured slip under it. And the halter top was sheer too, but it had a tight lycra underlayer that provided boob support and coverage. Since it was a halter, and I hated strapless bras, that was a good thing. I turned it inside out and looked closely at it. It took me about 90 seconds to unpick the anchoring stitches and remove the underlayer.

I bit my lip, holding them up together and tilting my head as I eyed them. Wow. That’s…really sheer. Right. I tossed them onto the bed and peeled out of my jeans and jumper.

I hesitated a long moment before pulling my bra and knickers off, wondering if I was bonkers. Maybe I should wear the gold silk bra and thong that Tom had given me underneath?

Shit, shit, shit! I actually danced in place in indecision.

That same heated flush warmed my body when I thought of Tom’s reaction if I went bare. Right. I rushed into the bath. I figured if I dressed first I’d have more time to chicken out, so I had a quick wash, brushed my teeth and flubbed my eyeliner twice.

Finally got the eyeliner right. Bigger wings! I dithered over scarlet lips, or nude lip balm. I went with the bare theme.

I seemed to remember that the lady had her hair down around her shoulders, but I could be wrong. Brushing out my hair and flipping it, I let my hair fall into it’s natural waves. That’ll do.

Time to dress. I stared at my outfit for a long moment. Here goes nothing. I pulled on the skirt and halter top without really looking at them, distracting myself by thinking what shoes I could wear.

But if I was going bare…bare all the way down would be…

My breath caught in my throat. Bare it is. I lifted my chin and went to stand in front of the mirror.

I looked up and a chill raced over my skin, giving me goose bumps. And hardening nipples.

Um.

I sure hope Tom doesn’t have a heart condition that he hasn’t told me about.

I put a drop of vanilla oil in my cleavage, on the back of my neck, and behind each knee. Giving a last twitch to my skirt in the mirror, I took a deep breath and went to check on the soup.

I’ve wandered around my own flat bare before, of course. But somehow this was different. This almost sheer get up showed the dark points of my nipples and the small dark triangle at the apex of my thighs. I felt more naughty than I’d ever felt before, alone in my flat.

It was a bizarre sensation while I moved around the kitchen, setting the table and getting out the beer. I’d even got down a couple beer glasses to do it proper!

I’d thought about giving him wine, but then the thought of wine mixed with chocolate… I went with the beer. I’ve got a bottle of scotch somewhere around here if he would prefer.

I lit a few candles around the room and on the table, dimming the lights just as the bell went.

I checked the clock. He was a few minutes early. I made sure the stove was off and cat footed it to the front door.

When his knock came I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I pulled the door open, refusing to let myself hide behind it as I let him in.

Tom’s eyes went wide and his lips parted when he saw me. I stood still, frozen and dying a little inside with every second that ticked by as his eyes traced my body from head to bare toes.

Ok. I’ll admit that I was happy I’d had that pedicure yesterday.

When his eyes finally made their way back up my body and looked back into mine it was like lightning arced between our bodies.

Tom stepped in, crowding me back and shoved the door shut behind him. He stood and stared right down at me, towering over me. Looking back at him, my mouth was so dry I couldn’t have yelled fire if the sofa were in flames!

Surprising me, Tom wrapped his arms arounds me and pulled me in for a hug, holding me tightly. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He just stood there, breathing in my hair. Ok…

“Rocky, my love…” he murmured in my ear, “you amaze me. And you very nearly made me come in my pants just then.”

I laughed happily and put my hands on his chest, leaning back a little.

“I’m afraid to let you go, love.” His voice deepened and his arms tightened around me.

“Right. Um, why?” I whispered.

“Because then I’ll see you in this…” He paused, obviously groping for words. He swallowed hard, loud in the silence. “…garment again, and I’m not just sure that I’ll survive it.” He sounded dead serious.

I lifted my head from his chest and looked up. He looked dead serious, too. I could feel a grin pulling at my lips.

“You could close your eyes, and I could go put something else on?” I teased, walking my fingers up the buttons of his shirt.

“Don’t you dare,” he breathed.

“In that case, it won’t get any easier for waiting. But it might get harder!”

“You’re right.” Tom took a big step back, holding me at arms length, and looking deeply into my eyes for a long moment before dropping his eyes to the rest of me.

A chill raced over me again as I watched his expression. I never knew that the phrase ‘his eyes devoured me’ could actually ever apply anywhere outside of a romance novel. But, yeah.

I felt a rush of heat replace the chill as he looked.

His hands dropped away and he took another two steps back, looking. His finger came up and delicately brushed over an achingly hard nipple. I sucked in a breath.

He took my hand and lifted it over my head, urging me around. I turned slowly on my toes. Tom shook his head as he stared at me.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I can’t do it. I can’t sit across from you and calmly have dinner with you wearing that. I can’t wait. I have to have you. Now.”

“Hmmm. It hadn’t occurred to me to be quite that mean to you…” I looked up at him through my lashes and he broke.

He pushed me up against the wall and pinned me with his body.

Cupping my face, he kissed me, pushing urgently into my mouth. Thank god. I’d have gone up in flames if he’d waited any longer.

My hands curled into the fabric of his shirt as I fiercely kissed him back. God, I wanted him.

My leg twined around the back of his as my hips pushed up. Tom’s hands moved to grasp my hips, pulling me forward, his thigh between my legs.

Slowly, sensually, he pulled my hips up the slope of his leg and the hard muscle of his thigh ground into my clit, nearly whiting out my vision.

“Fuck!” My hands dropped to scrabble frantically at his belt and flies. When I had wrestled them open he shoved them off his bum, and had my skirt up in a flash.

I cried out, so instantly full I nearly came right then.

Tom grabbed my hands and held them above my head and rolled his hips, pushing into me over and over, as he devoured my neck.

“Come Rocky. Come with me, come on me,” Tom gritted and slammed into me three more times before it hit me and he stiffened, both of us panting harshly as we ignited.

I know my eyes rolled back in my head, and I’m pretty sure I discovered flight in those moments.

Tom let my hands go and they fell limply onto his shoulders as I shuddered out the last pulses.

“God, Rocky,” he whispered. I let out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah.”

Tom pulled slowly out of me, both of us groaning as he did. I let my leg down and tried to stand on my own. Whoops, no knickers. I felt a hot trickle down the inside of my thigh.

When Tom stepped away, I looked down. Sure enough, there was a a streak of white sliding down my leg.

Tom stared down too, finally reaching a finger out as if mesmerized and swiping through the little trail of his come.

I grabbed his wrist and stared into his eyes when he looked up in surprise. Bringing his finger to my mouth, I cleaned it off.

“Christ, Rocky. You’re going to kill me.”

“Well, before you die, would you mind finding me a tissue or something? Save the carpets.”

Tom’s eyes lit with laughter and he pulled his trousers back up, digging through his pockets and eventually finding a handkerchief.

He knelt and carefully cleaned my leg, and other parts, leaned forward and left a quick kiss on the parts mentioned.

Standing, he folded his hankie over the mess, and then stood, staring blankly at it. I laughed out loud.

“What, you don’t want a pocket full of jizz?” I pulled it out of his hand. “will you go start the soup reheating? I’ll be right back.

After a quick wash…don’t want to be leaving a trail of wet spots on the carpet, I found him in the kitchen.

“So, are you alright to eat dinner, now? I mean, if I sit down across from you in this get up you won’t like, shoot extra seasoning in the soup, right?

Tom tossed his head back and laughed.

“No fear, Rocky! The soup pot is far too far away. I’m making no promises about not seasoning you, however!”

Tom pulled my chair out and held it for me. I stood there with my hands on my hips, glaring at him, which probably would have been more effective if I hadn’t been desperately trying to choke back a laugh at the mental image of Tom and the soup pot across the room.

“Wait,’ I threw up a hand, “are you hinting that I’m not spicy enough??” I gestured at my clothing, the dark shadows that were my nipples clearly showing through the white chiffon.

“Spicy?” Tom grinned. “In that ensemble? Darling, you look positively virginal and innocent in all that white, and sitting down to dinner across from you will be truly torturous!”

“Well, alright then.” Mollified, I sat demurely in my chair and Tom went to his own, ostentatiously adjusting his trousers before taking his seat with a wry shake of his head.

“This smells wonderful!” He picked up his serviette and placed it in his lap while looking over the table.

“But tell me, what does chicken soup have to do with Eight Maids a Milking?”

I grinned saucily and flipped my hair back over my shoulder before picking up my spoon.

“Not much. But I thought it would be good to have a proper meal before getting to the evening’s programme. Do you have any freaking idea how hard it was to come up with something that has some connection to Eight Maids a Milking?? Well, let me tell you buddy, you know it’s pasture bedtime when you find yourself staring blankly at a picture of a Milkmaid, trying to come up with a funny gift! The steaks were high!” I waved a finger at him.

Tom sniggered and choked a little on his soup. I continued.

“I mean, Cows were one thing, but a bunch of milkmaids swanning about the kitchen were right out!”

“Oh thank god!” Tom clutched his chest dramatically and gestured with the other hand. “If that’s your idea of a milkmaid’s outfit, I don’t think my heart could take seven more dressed like you! Besides, the swans were yesterday!”

“Right.” I waved my spoon at him. “So, I was going to make you a milkshake, but that didn’t work out.” I shook my head and scowled. “I got the cow, but I couldn’t find a bloody pogo-stick anywhere!”

This time Tom did choke on his soup. He spluttered and coughed into his serviette. When he recovered enough, he asked,

“Um, where’s the cow?”

I gave him my best patented Are-You-Crazy look.

“In the garden, of course! You can’t keep cows in the kitchen! It would be udder chaos!” I waved my hands around.

“You’re going to milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?” Tom rolled his eyes

I nodded with a smug little smile.

“Yep-p-p. You’re getting the crem de la crem of bad milk jokes tonight!” I wrinkled my forehead in concern.

“You’re alright, are you? You won’t cow-lapse at my bad puns, right?”

“No,” Tom smirked, “But I might be moo-ved to laugh-tears!”

I grinned at him, pleased as punch at Tom for entering into my silliness so enthusiastically.

“You’re such a smart-arse, I bet you could sit on an ice cream cone and tell me what flavor it was!”

“That’s cold!” He shot back.

We fell about, sniggering as we cleared up the dishes. Tom seemed to think that I deserved a kiss for every dish or spoon, or glass he handed me.

We adjourned to the lounge and I handed him a glass of beer when we sat on the sofa.

“I’ll have you know that you’re so special, I’ve given you the clean glass!”

Tom examined his glass, then looked at mine..

“But they’re exactly the same!”

“No, see, there’s a lipstick mark on mine!” I pointed to the rim. Looking around, I shouted “Jeeves!” I shook my head. “The service is lousy around here! Staff never bring me a clean glass when I want it!”

“You should fire them all!” Tom clinked his glass with mine. I agreed.

“I was just going to give them a bloody good talking to, but you’re right. They can all just kiss my dairy-ere!”

Tom groaned and covered his face with one hand, glaring at me over the top of his hand. His eyes narrowed.

He set his beer down and took mine as well. Then he dragged me giggling across the sofa and up-ended me over his lap.

“No. I’m the only one who gets to kiss this lovely, delectable dairy-ere! Mine!” He growled possessively, and leaned down to kiss and nibble at my bum while I squirmed and laughed.

“Keep doing that and you’ll get more than a milk mustache, mister!”

“But I haven’t had my pudding!” He whinged, pouting.

“Oh! Pudding!” I suddenly remembered and pushed off his lap to a disappointed noise from Tom. Scrambling up, I went and collected my ipad, the telly remote, and the box of Milk Tray.

Tom watched me cross the room appreciatively, adjusting his trousers again and clearing his throat. I handed him my iPad and bounced down onto the sofa next to him.

“Have a look at that. It’s all cue’d up.”

His eyebrows rising, Tom turned it on and played the video of the Milk Tray advert that I’d found on youtoob.

“Okay. Milk Maids, Milk Tray. I get it.” Tom nodded, cocking his head curiously.

“Yeah well, you try coming up with eight milkmaids and eight cows this time of the year! I couldn’t find any available at all for rental, not for love nor money! I ask you!” I threw up my hands in exasperation and stood to pace.

Tom chuckled, his eyes alight.

“Look on the bright side, darling! You’d probably have to hire eight cowshit sweepers as well! And think of the licenses you’d have to get to have livestock in your flat… Oh lord, what a bugger the paperwork would be…”

Tom moaned, hanging his head and running a hand through his hair in agitation. I stared at him, a bit stunned at his ability to just riff. I always know I’m playing with a professional!

I put my hands on my hips and glared at him, tapping a toe.

“If we could get back to Eight Maids a Milking, Thomas?”

Tom good naturedly rolled his lips between his lips to signal his promise to keep quiet, but all the smile creases on his face deepened. He nodded, pretending to be contrite.

“Well, since the maids and cows-“ I glowered at Tom, “- and cowshit sweepers- were right out…” I held up my hands like scales and made a weighing motion with them.

“Milkmaids, Milkcows…Milk Trays!” I saucily picked the hem of my skirt up, fanned it out and curtsied. Then I did ‘jazz hands’.

“Et voila!”

His delighted laugh rang out, and he clapped his hands together. “Your dress is like the Milk Tray Lady’s!”

I winked at him. “So, did you know that they made all these Milk Tray Man adverts, but not one bloody Milk Tray Man film?!” I threw my hands up in exasperation again, overdramatising like mad.

“So I had to settle for,” I depend my voice, “Bond, James Bond.”

I offered him a choice of any of the Brosnan Bond films. Because why take chances? “And what is the Milk Tray for?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh! That’s for me!” I watched his face fall into a moue of disappointment before continuing.

“I get to feed you chocolates…” I purred in his ear, making sure to brush my boobs against his chest when I sat on his lap.

Tom said nothing to this, but I heard him swallow dryly.

“So!” I sat up straight, cheerfully pleased with my own cheesy cleverness. “There’ll be no milkmaids and cows, but there’s milk chocolates…” I carefully selected a chocolate, taking my time and fingering one before putting it down and choosing another.

I gently touched it to his lips as they parted, “And here’s the maid. That makes me a Milk Chocolate Maid, which must be better, right?” I pushed the chocolate slowly into his mouth with a careful forefinger.

His lips closed around my finger and sucked… Whew. I was going to need that hand back in a minute to fan my face. I slid my finger from his mouth and stared at his lips as he started to chew, making the most obscene moans and licking his lips.

I’m not just sure how long it was before I was able to shake myself from my daze. I cleared my throat.

“The Milk Tray Man adverts have a Lady dressed in white.” I bowed from my place on his lap. ‘And we have James Bond filling in for the Milk Tray Man… I know it’s a bit tortured,” I shrugged and quoted the advert tag line, ”And it’s all because the Lady loves Milk Tray…”

“Well done, Rocky!” He applauded.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week!” I popped a chocolate into my own mouth and grinned around it.

Tom settled me on his lap, and settled the Milk Tray box on mine. He grabbed the remote and started the movie. While the opening credits were playing I selected another chocolate, and held it a moment.

“Tom,” I said in a deliberately idle tone, “what to cannibals have for pudding?” I teased his lips with the chocolate as I waited for him to work it out. He shook his head with a pained look. He knew it was going to be bad.

“Alright, what do cannibals have for pudding?

I pushed the chocolate between his lips.

“Chocolate covered Aunts, of course.” I giggled at the expression on his face. He looked like he wanted to spit! After thinking about it for a moment, he shrugged and started chewing. I’d given him a caramel, so it took him a little while to swallow.

“If that was Aunt Marge, she’s very tasty! Bit chewy, though.” He licked his lips and leaned over me to look at the chocolates. “Got any more?”

The film started and we fed each other the chocolates and sips of beer while we laughed and joked about the ridiculous puns in the film.

“Where do they come up with these appalling Bond girl’s names? I mean, Pussy Galore?? Holly Goodhead?? Plenty O’Tool?? And why don’t the male villains get pun names? Where is Uri Jerksoff, or Vladimir Crysalot?”

Tom shook his head.

Eventually, Tom stretched out on the sofa and rearranged me on top of him more comfortably. Tucked under his arm, with my fist propping my chin up on his chest, and a leg slung over his, our feet tangled together. I could just feel myself melting into him as I relaxed and watched the film, loving the rumble of Tom’s laughter when it reverberated through his chest.

I glanced at Tom from the corner of my eye sometime later, when I realized Tom had been quiet for a bit, to find him staring at me, ignoring the film altogether.

“Something the matter, Tom?”

“Oh, nothing at all,” he said affecting a nonchalant air. “Are you cold?”

I glanced at the screen, where the car chase was playing out in the snow and ice, and shivered. I followed the direction of his gaze.

Looking down, I saw my nipples standing straight and tight, poking the fabric of my top.

When I realized he was looking I felt my nipples tighten even more, and a little jolt of electricity downtown. I looked back up into his face, and shivered again.

“Here, let me warm those up for you, shall I darling?” His large warm hands covered my boobs. He not only warmed my boobs up for me, he stroked up and down my back, his hand gliding over the chiffon and pouring warmth into me.

I woke up, hours later and poked Tom awake as gently as I could, chivying him off the sofa and into my bed. I curled right back up on him, exactly as we had lain on the sofa, and promptly fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Tune in tomorrow and spend Christmas Day with Tom and Rocky. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, everybody!


End file.
